“Late submission of your blog post on the forum will be a deduction of your mark. Don’t say I didn’t warn you all.”

Mr. Rogers’ voice carried through the classroom like it had teeth. The bell rang almost immediately, a shrill relief that sent everyone scraping chairs, shoving books into bags, and streaming toward the door.

I stayed a second longer, scribbling the last few lines of my notes. By the time I stood, my best friend Alora was already at our locker, waiting with that restless bounce she always had after class.

“Hurry up, you write like you’re auditioning to be Shakespeare’s secretary,” she teased as I joined her. The hallway was chaos—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, laughter bouncing off walls. Senior year at Falcon Falls High School wasn’t any quieter than freshman year; we’d just learned to walk faster and talk louder.

“Better Shakespeare’s secretary than failing Rogers’ Greek studies,” I said, twisting my lock open.

Alora leaned against the next locker, her blond hair sticking out in uneven strands like she’d fought a windstorm. “Oh, speaking of failing—wait till you hear this.” She pulled out a notebook but didn’t bother putting it into her bag. Instead, her eyes sparkled in that way she always got before dropping something dramatic.

“What now?” I asked, sliding my books into the metal cave that smelled faintly of old gym socks.

“My stepbrother is visiting.”

“Congratulations,” I deadpanned.

“No, you don’t get it. He’s… like, an actual prince.”

I snorted. “Right. And I’m secretly the Queen of Falcon Falls.”

“I’m serious!” she said, shoving my shoulder. “From Arabia. A real one. He lives in a palace with guards and—look, he’s flying in today. My mom nearly burned the kitchen down trying to make some traditional feast thing.”

I shut my locker, raising a brow. “So let me guess—he’s tall, brooding, and rides camels to school?”

Alora laughed. “Don’t be racist, dumbass. But yes, he’s tall. And brooding. And… rich.”

“Of course he is.”

She grinned at my skepticism. “You’ll see.”

By the time we made it to the parking lot, the sky had decided to sulk. Thick gray clouds gathered above Falcon Falls, low enough to graze the rooftops. My little rust-bucket of a car sat waiting, brave against the storm.

The moment I turned the key, rain broke open like someone had split the sky in half.

“Great timing,” I muttered as the engine coughed, wheezed, and died.

Alora groaned. “Not this again.”

We tried. God knows we tried—switching the ignition, begging, even stepping out into the downpour to push. The rain plastered my hair to my forehead, soaking my shirt until it clung to my skin. The car refused to budge, stubborn as a mule.

“Forget it,” Alora said, wiping water from her face. “I’m calling him.”

“Your prince?”

“My stepbrother,” she corrected, already digging out her phone. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ll thank me when we’re not stranded here like idiots.”

I leaned against the useless car, shivering as the rain drummed harder. Students ran past us under umbrellas, giving us that glad it’s not me look. By the time Alora finished her call, I felt like a drenched sponge.

“He’ll come,” she said, tucking her phone away.

“When?”

She shrugged. “Soon.”

“Define soon.”

An hour later, when my teeth were nearly chattering and the parking lot was half-empty, a sleek black car rolled in like it had no business being here. The kind of car that didn’t belong in Falcon Falls—shiny, foreign, expensive enough to buy my entire street twice.

He stepped out.

And for a second, I forgot how to breathe.

He wasn’t tall in the basketball team kind of way. He was tall in the way shadows stretched when the sun’s low. Sharp lines cut across his face, dark hair slicked back like the rain was afraid to touch him. His suit—yes, an actual suit—fit too perfectly for someone coming to rescue two high school girls.

My stomach flipped, heat crawling where cold rain had been seconds ago.

“That’s him,” Alora whispered, though she didn’t need to.

When he came closer, I tried to straighten myself, pretend I wasn’t dripping like a dog left in the storm. But my body betrayed me, nerves buzzing, words tangling in my throat.

Alora ran to him, hugging his side like she wasn’t half-soaked. They exchanged quick words in a language I didn’t catch. His voice was low, accented, smooth enough to cut glass.

I swallowed, stepping forward. My turn. My chance to be normal.

“Hi, I’m wet—”

The words slipped before I could stop them. My brain screamed. My face flamed. I tried again, stumbling. “I mean—we’re wet. Because… you took long.”

God. Please let the asphalt split open. Let it swallow me whole.

He looked at me then. Really looked. A slow smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth, one side only, as if he knew exactly what I meant and enjoyed watching me die inside.

“I can see that,” he said. His accent curved around the words like silk.

I blinked. My knees might have wobbled.

Alora, thankfully, saved me from collapsing entirely. “This is my best friend,” she said quickly, gesturing between us. “And this is my stepbrother, Rayan.”

Rayan. The name rolled like smoke. He gave me the faintest nod, his eyes unreadable, and then turned back toward the car as if introductions were a formality beneath him.

I stood there, cheeks burning, shirt clinging, wondering how the hell a storm, a broken car, and one very smug Arabian prince had just flipped my entire world upside down.