The Heart Ring

Chapter 1 – Vision

The colors came back before Abby even made it through the school doors.

They lingered at the edge of her vision—shimmers that wouldn’t disappear when she rubbed her eyes. A boy tossed a football near the bike racks. Orange glowed in his chest. A girl clutched her books, radiating pale yellow, thin at the edges. The ring on Abby’s finger felt cool and heavy. It seemed to notice her attention.

Maybe it was just the sun on metal, she told herself. Maybe she was tired.

Inside, the hallway roared the way it always did before the first bell. Lockers slammed. Voices bounced. Sneakers squeaked across waxed floors. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, white and harsh, but the glow she saw in people’s chests pulsed separate from the bulbs. Abby clung to her binder like a shield and tried not to stare.

Colors flickered everywhere: green steady around the kid holding the door, orange pulsing off two friends laughing, blue misting from a freshman in his hoodie. The school’s ordinary chaos layered over this impossible second world. It stretched Abby’s focus thin.

Her stomach flipped. If Grandpa’s warning had been real—not a toy, girl—then maybe this wasn’t a gift. Maybe it was a curse.

“Abs!”

Kimi’s voice broke through the noise. She jogged up, ponytail swinging, backpack bouncing against her side. “You just walked past your locker like it called you a name.”

Abby jolted, spun, and doubled back. “I was—thinking.”

“About what?”

Don’t say colors. “Homework.”

“Liar.” Kimi thumped her knuckles lightly against Abby’s arm.

The touch startled Abby. She hadn’t meant to glance down, but she did—and Kimi’s glow hit her like a rush of warmth. Gold laced through blue, bright threads of green flickering like sunlight on moving water. It wasn’t sharp or loud. It was steady. Alive!

Abby blinked hard, looking away. Stop staring. Act normal.

“Seriously, Abs,” Kimi said, watching her. “What’s going on with you?”

“I’m fine,” Abby murmured, spinning the ring so the heart-shaped stone pressed into her palm.

---

By second period, the colors weren’t new. They were constant—a hum she couldn’t turn off. The teacher droned about state capitals. Abby’s eyes slid from one glow to the next. The boy at the front, yellow tinged with gray. The girl by the window carried soft blue, almost dim as dusk after rain.

Abby gripped her pencil so tightly it squeaked against the page. Grandpa’s words circled in her head: That’s not a toy, girl.

If the ring wasn’t a toy, then what was it? A tool? A trap? Something he hadn’t finished teaching her how to use? The thought made her throat tight.

---

At lunch, the cafeteria overwhelmed her. Trays clattered. The air smelled of burned cheese and oranges from the juice cartons. Chairs scraped. Every sound doubled now: colors threaded through—red shouts, yellow bursts, blue pools. She blinked hard. She tried to keep her fork steady.

Kimi dropped into the seat across from her and narrowed her eyes. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“The not-here thing. Your body’s here. Your brain’s off on Mars.”

Abby tried to smile, but it sagged. She stabbed her fork into the overcooked pizza square. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“You can be fine and weird,” Kimi said matter-of-factly. “I’m observing.”

Abby laughed in spite of herself, and Kimi’s glow brightened, the gold threads sparking stronger. It tugged at something warm in Abby’s chest, the way Grandpa’s voice used to when he finished a story.

Across the cafeteria, a tray clattered to the floor. The crash startled everyone. Colors burst and stuttered around the room like startled birds—reds and oranges spiking, blues shrinking low.

Abby’s gaze snagged on a boy near the plants by the windows. His chest carried a dull gray-blue that sagged heavy, dimmer than anyone else’s. Her throat tightened.

Stop. Eat. Don’t get involved.

But she couldn’t look away.

---

On the bus, colors swelled and faded with every laugh and complaint. Abby pressed her forehead to the glass, focusing on the rushing trees—ordinary and safe. Even the driver glowed, tired gold-gray pulsing with the stoplights.

When she walked through her front door, the ring felt heavier than it had in the morning.

Mom glanced up from the sink, studying her.

“You look worn out, honey.”

Abby slipped the ring off and set it her pocket before answering, relief mixing with exhaustion. “I’m okay.”

Mom didn’t look convinced, but she dried her hands and opened her arms. Abby stepped into the hug. For a moment, she let herself rest there, forehead against her mother’s shoulder. It was ordinary warmth, no colors, no glowing heartbeats—just Mom.

Later upstairs, the ring waited on her desk. For the first time all day, the world looked flat again—dull, ordinary, safe. Abby sat on the edge of her bed, staring at it in the dim light.

Tomorrow, she thought. Just one more day.

Still, even as she lied to herself, she knew tomorrow she’d slip it back on.

Because she couldn’t stop wondering what colors her friends would carry tomorrow?

And what would their hearts mean?