In a quiet hospital room, the rhythmic beeping of monitors provided the only sound, a backdrop to the new life that had just entered the world. A nurse, her hands experienced and steady from years of practice, gently cradled a newborn baby. A familiar but always rewarding experience. To witness a new life enter the world fills her with endless joy each and every time she does it. She never gets bored of it.

As the nurse looks into the child's eyes they were wide open, but there was something unnerving about the way they stared, unblinking, directly at her. Babies weren't supposed to look like this, a focused, unlinking gaze, right after birth. It was as though the infant wasn't just seeing the world for the first time, but analyzing it, assessing everything with a cold, calculated gaze.

The nurse, who had delivered hundreds of babies, felt a shiver shoot down her spine. She glanced at the parents, her practiced smile faltering slightly. This wasn't the first time she'd seen something like this recently—an infant so still, so unnaturally calm. It was becoming more common, but that didn't make it any less disconcerting.

She gently prodded the baby's cheek, trying to coax a response—a cry, a wriggle, anything. But the child remained impassive, its tiny face unchanging, almost as if it were studying her rather than the other way around.

The parents, a young couple in their late twenties, exchanged nervous glances. The father, his voice unsteady, broke the silence first.  "Is... is everything okay?"

The nurse hesitated, searching for the right words to reassure them. "Yes, perfectly fine. Just a little quiet, that's all. Some babies are like that." 

She smiled again, but it didn't reach her eyes. As she handed the baby back to the mother, the strange feeling gnawing at the back of her mind persisted. This wasn't normal. None of this was. The mother, too exhausted and overcome with joy and relief didn't feel the same unnerving sensation the nurse did. Indeed this was a very bizarre situation.

Over the next few months, the baby grew quickly—almost too quickly. It didn't cry, didn't fuss, and never seemed to need comforting. At first, the child's parents were relieved by the easygoing nature of their new addition, but their relief soon gave way to worry. There were no giggles, no cooing, no babbling—just a constant, piercing gaze that made anyone in its presence feel uneasy, as though the child could see through them. The mother often found herself staring into those deep, unblinking eyes, searching for some sign of the innocent curiosity babies usually have. But there was nothing—just an eerie stillness that was both captivating and terrifying.

And this baby wasn't alone. All across the world, more children like this began to appear—perfectly formed, eerily beautiful, too beautiful like perfectly sculpted porcelain dolls, and disturbingly emotionless. They grew faster, spoke sooner, and outperformed other children with an effortless grace that was as captivating as it was unsettling. Doctors and scientists were baffled, unable to explain the sudden surge of these so-called "Silent Ones." But while the world scrambled for answers, these children simply continued to grow, indifferent to the unease they caused. Or maybe they knew and just didn't care.

Yusuf was in the third grade when he first met her. It was a typical morning, the sun barely peeking over the rooftops as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and trudged into the classroom. The same old sidewalk he's walked over and over. On the way to school he likes to jump into the small puddles after last night's rainstorm with his brand-new rain boots. He'll get mud caked all over them and his mom will be absolutely furious. He knew that but it was too fun not to jump. The air was filled with the usual morning chatter, kids laughing and trading snacks before the bell rang, beyblade battles wrapping up quickly before school begins, it was a nice morning. Everything seemed normal, and Yusuf was already mentally preparing himself for recess where he will finesse a second-grader's lunch and beat him in a Yu-Gi-Oh battle.

But then she walked in.

At first, Yusuf didn't think much of it. New students came and went all the time, and it wasn't like he was paying much attention anyway. It'll probably be a new awkward kid he'll vibe check later at lunch and trade sandwiches with. Nothing new, just business as usual. Right not, he had more important things to take care of, Omar thinks he can beat him in a Yu-Gi-Oh game. Yusuf has to strategize and form his deck to be unbeatable, nobody can beat him. But something about her—about the way she moved—made him look up.

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The girl who had just entered the classroom was... different. Yusuf couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something about her that made everyone else in the room fade away. She was beautiful, sure, with long dark hair that fell in smooth waves and eyes so green they seemed to glow, but that wasn't it. It was the way she carried herself, like she didn't belong here—like she was meant for something much bigger, much more important. No, that's not it. It's not that she thought she was above the class. She just...didn't care. If the classroom suddenly went up in smoke she probably wouldn't raise an eyebrow. Whether she was here or at home or dead, she simply didn't care. Her eyes were unblinking and empty, yet strikingly captivating and inviting. The abyss in her eyes might as well have been a diving board inviting you to jump.

Yusuf's heart did a funny little flip in his chest. He'd never seen anyone like her before, and for a moment, he felt like he couldn't breathe. He wasn't the only one who noticed, either. The entire class seemed to quiet down, as if an invisible force had suddenly pressed the mute button. He knew of aura, but this is different, this is more than rizz, more than aura or any of these stupid terms to quantify social presence. All eyes were on her, but she didn't seem to care. She just walked to an empty desk in the back of the room and sat down, as if she hadn't just turned the whole world upside down.

The teacher, Mrs. Cooney, cleared her throat awkwardly, trying to regain control of the room. "Class, this is Dahlia. She's new here, so let's all make her feel welcome."

Dahlia didn't respond, didn't even blink. She just sat there, her hands folded neatly on her desk, staring straight ahead. The rest of the class exchanged nervous glances, unsure of what to do. Why were they feeling like this? She just sat down. But they didn't know, they just felt something weird about her. Yusuf felt a strange mix of curiosity and fear bubbling up inside him. He wanted to talk to her, to ask her where she came from and why she looked like she was carved out of marble, but he couldn't move. He just sat there, staring at her like everyone else. As the day went on, Yusuf couldn't stop thinking about Dahlia. She barely spoke a word, only answering questions when the teacher called on her, and even then, her voice was flat and emotionless. She didn't laugh at the funny things the other kids said, didn't flinch when a boy accidentally knocked over his water bottle near her desk. It was like nothing in the world could touch her.

During recess, while the other kids were playing tag or swinging on the jungle gym, Yusuf found himself sitting on a bench, watching Dahlia from a distance. She was sitting alone on the edge of the playground, not looking at anything in particular, just... being there. Some girls tried to approach her and ask her about herself, she didn't answer them. Just stared down and eating her sandwich. It didn't take long for the other kids to leave her, and she didn't seem to notice or care. She was like a statue, perfectly still and impossibly beautiful, and Yusuf couldn't take his eyes off her.

For the next few days, Yusuf's fascination with Dahlia only grew. He tried to muster up the courage to talk to her, to introduce himself and maybe even make her smile, but every time he got close, something held him back. It wasn't just that she was different—there was something more, something that made him feel like he was standing on the edge of a very deep, very dark pit. A primal sense of danger was quietly rising in his chest. He's sure the other kids felt it too. It didn't matter that she looked like an angel, something deep in their subconscious told them to stay away and save themselves.

One afternoon, after school, Yusuf finally decided to make his move. He saw Dahlia walking alone down the hallway, her backpack slung over one shoulder. His heart pounded in his chest as he hurried to catch up with her. He was fighting every cell in his body telling him to run away, but he had to. His curiosity and intrigue was too overwhelming. This was it. He was going to talk to her, and maybe, just maybe, she would smile at him.

"Hey, Dahlia!" he called out, his voice cracking a little from nerves.

She stopped and turned to look at him, her expression as unreadable as ever. Yusuf felt a lump form in his throat, but he forced himself to keep going.

"Uh, I was wondering if you... if you wanted to walk home together?" He knew it sounded lame, but it was the best he could come up with on the spot. He wasn't his same confident and witty self. He prided himself on the fact that by third grade he'd already had three girls give him little notes saying they liked him. But right now, that didn't matter. He was frozen and his brain blanked.

For a moment, Dahlia just stared at him, her green eyes boring into his soul. Yusuf felt a shiver run down his spine, but he stood his ground, waiting for her answer.

Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, Dahlia's lips curved into a small smile. It wasn't the warm, friendly kind of smile that Yusuf had been hoping for. No, it was something else—something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was the kind of smile you might give if you'd just figured out a particularly tricky puzzle, or if you were about to do something you knew would change everything.

"Okay," she said, her voice soft but cold.

Yusuf's heart skipped a beat. He didn't know what to make of that smile, but he didn't care. She said yes, and that was all that mattered. As they walked out of the school together, he couldn't help but feel like he was the luckiest boy in the world.

But deep down, in a place he didn't like to think about, Yusuf knew that nothing would ever be the same again. This was the beginning of a story he would come to deeply regret later on.