The final bell rang, echoing through the halls of the school like the ending note of a long, tiring song. Almost instantly, the building came alive with movement—students pouring out of classrooms, flooding the corridors and eventually the front gates. Laughter, chatter, the clatter of shoes on tile—it all merged into the familiar chaos that signified another school day coming to an end.
Among the crowd were Rose and Amanda, weaving their way through the throng of students, each one eager to get home or meet up with friends for after-school adventures. Amanda was in high spirits, rambling animatedly about a new café she wanted to try out and the drama club meeting she might skip just this once.
But Rose wasn't listening.
She walked beside her best friend, head lowered slightly, eyes distracted, as though her body was present but her mind had wandered far from the noisy streets. Amanda's voice was background noise to her thoughts—thoughts completely consumed by a single, lingering worry: Would Lonelygirl4556 reply? And if she did… what would she say?
Amanda had tried to reassure her earlier, telling her to stay hopeful, that everything would be fine. But Rose couldn't bring herself to relax. Reassurance, no matter how heartfelt, wasn't a guarantee. Just because Amanda said it would be fine didn't mean it would be. And the idea of being rejected by someone she looked up to—a talented writer who inspired her to pick up the pen—was enough to make her stomach twist.
As they walked down the familiar path toward their neighborhood, Amanda finally noticed the silence beside her. Rose hadn't uttered a word, hadn't even grunted in acknowledgment to half the things Amanda had said.
Amanda squinted suspiciously, then without warning, reached out and flicked Rose right on the forehead.
Rose: (rubbing her forehead with a wince) Ouch! What was that for?
Amanda: To bring you back to Earth, obviously. You've been spaced out since we left school. Are you still worrying about that thing?
Rose: (sighing) How can I not worry? This could be the most important step for me. My future as a writer might depend on her saying yes.
Amanda: (raising an eyebrow) That's a bit dramatic, don't you think? Your success doesn't have to hinge on one person's approval. There are plenty of other writers and mentors out there who would love to help you.
Rose: Yeah… I know. But she's the one I chose to ask. And I only found her because you recommended her page to me.
Amanda: Right, and that's why I'll feel even worse if you let a single response—or non-response—define your worth. You have so much potential, Rose. Don't forget that.
Rose: (slowing her pace, shoulders slumping slightly) I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make this all about me or put pressure on you. I know you were just trying to help.
Amanda: Hey, don't worry about it. We all have our moments. Just don't let this moment break your stride. And stop saying sorry so much. It's not like you kicked my dog or something.
That last line made Rose crack a smile. It was small, but it was enough.
Rose: Thanks… really.
Amanda gave her a soft nudge. Anytime.
Just then, Rose's phone buzzed inside her pocket. Her hand shot down to retrieve it, the screen lighting up with a single notification that made her heart skip more than just a beat.
Lonelygirl4556 sent you a message.
Rose froze in place. Amanda, curious, leaned over slightly to peek at the screen. When she saw the notification, her eyes widened.
Amanda: Is that…?
Rose nodded silently, her thumb trembling slightly as she tapped open the Twibbler app. Her breath hitched as she opened the message, her eyes scanning every word, again and again just to be sure she wasn't dreaming.
Lonelygirl4556:
[I've given it some thought, and I'll do what I can to tutor you. Let's start tonight.]
There was a beat of silence. Then—
Rose let out a loud, unfiltered scream of joy. It echoed down the street, startling a few nearby pedestrians and causing a flock of birds to flap away from a power line. She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, face turning red as the reality of what she'd just done set in.
Amanda, unable to contain herself, burst into laughter.
Amanda: Well, someone's excited.
Rose: (laughing nervously) I couldn't help it! She said yes, Amanda. She said yes!
Amanda: I told you everything would work out, didn't I?
Rose: You did. And I should've believed you more.
Amanda grinned. You believe now?
Rose nodded, her eyes gleaming. More than ever.
******
Elsewhere, in a quiet hospital room bathed in the soft golden hue of the afternoon sun, Kana sat back against her pillows, staring at the ceiling. Her phone rested in her lap, the screen still on after sending the message to Rose.
For a long moment, she didn't move. Then she took a deep breath, steadying herself against the anxious flutter in her chest.
Kana: (softly) Now… let's hope I don't mess things up.
The door creaked open, and Jane, the friendly nurse who had taken care of Kana for years, entered with a tray in hand.
Jane: Lunch time, sweetheart.
Kana blinked and sat up straighter, the corners of her lips curling into a faint smile.
Kana: Thanks, Jane.
********
The time was 5:46 PM.
The sun was beginning to dip behind the apartment blocks, painting the sky in soft shades of orange and pale gold. The wind had a dry bite to it now, carrying with it the signature rustle of Autumn—leaves swirling, dancing in chaotic little spirals across the pavement.
John grabbed the long-handled brush Ms. Marie always kept tucked away in the storage room at the back of the store. It was old and a bit worn at the bristles, but it got the job done. He stepped outside the small supermarket, taking a deep breath as the crisp air greeted him. The corridor out front was littered with fallen leaves and scattered dust. The kind of mess that could return with a vengeance the moment the wind decided to be petty again.
He got to work.
The sweeping motion was rhythmic, almost therapeutic—but not enough to distract him from what had been replaying in his mind over and over again for the past few days.
Rachel's voice echoed in his head.
"John, I love you."
Just like that—no hesitation. No dramatic buildup. Just honesty. The kind that hit him right in the chest.
John paused mid-sweep, letting the brush rest against the side of his leg. He scratched his head, frustration mounting as if the confession had just happened seconds ago.
John: (to himself)Damn it… no matter how hard I try not to think about it, it always creeps back in. Just sneaks in when I least expect it. Maybe… maybe it's because this is the first time someone's ever said something like that to me. Something so raw and real. (pauses) I don't know what the hell to do.
He sighed and returned to sweeping, picking up the pace, as if trying to outrun his thoughts. But the leaves were many, and the wind was watching—waiting.
Still, his mind wandered back to Rachel.
They had known each other for so long. Grew up on the same street, sat next to each other in class, played video games after school when they were younger. She was the one constant in his life before everything got complicated. Before Ivan and Joseph, before his world started shifting in strange, heavy ways.
John: (to himself) Rachel… the one who's known me the longest. The one who always had my back. And she said she loves me. Me. The guy whose life is one giant mess. The kid with scars no one sees… The one who keeps secrets no one should carry.
But love isn't about being perfect, right? Normal isn't the requirement…
He remembered her exact words from that night. The way her voice trembled slightly—not from fear, but from vulnerability.
"You know…you don't have to give me an answer right now."
"I know how sudden this must feel for you. I've had time to process my feelings, but for you, this is all happening at once. It's only fair that I give you some time to think things over."
"But… don't make me wait too long, okay?"
John exhaled through his nose, a long and weary breath. He didn't want to make her wait. He didn't want to be that guy—the one who left things hanging and made someone suffer in silence.
But how was he supposed to answer something like that?
How do you respond to someone who's poured their heart out to you, when yours is too tangled to even find the right beat?
John: (to himself) This isn't supposed to be hard… but why? Why is it so damn hard to decide?
He thought back to their shared memories—bike rides down the alley, late-night chats about anime, the time she sat with him on his porch when he didn't say a single word but she stayed anyway. Those were the moments that made up the foundation of their friendship.
But he also remembered the moments when he wanted to tell her things he couldn't. Not because she wouldn't care, but because she just wouldn't get it. There was always this invisible line between them. A line he couldn't cross. A part of him that couldn't be seen—even by her.
John: (to himself) Why… is it so hard to—
And then her face appeared.
Not Rachel's.
Kana's.
Smiling. That gentle, almost innocent expression that seemed to look straight through his walls.
The image stopped him dead in his tracks.
The wind, sensing his distraction, took the opportunity it had been waiting for. It picked up sharply, sending the gathered leaves into a spiraling frenzy once again. In mere seconds, the work he had done was undone.
Leaves scattered back across the corridor like a cruel joke.
John groaned and sighed, clearly annoyed at himself for the careless mistake. The thought of having to gather all the scattered leaves again made his shoulders slump in frustration. He ran a hand through his messy hair, staring down at the chaotic mess the wind had made of his earlier efforts. It felt like the universe was mocking him.
John: (to himself) Perfect. Just perfect.
As he stood there, silently cursing the breeze, he was caught off guard by the sudden appearance of Ms. Marie. Without warning, she smacked the back of his head with the rolled-up magazine she had been reading. The unexpected thwack made him jump, spinning around in surprise.
Ms. Marie: Hey! I don't pay you to stand around and mope. Get back to work before the wind decides to play with the leaves again.
John: Yes ma'am.
John muttered sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head as he bent down to start collecting the leaves once more
Ms. Marie gave a small humph of approval before walking over to the railing where her bicycle was tied. With a quiet grace, she sat down on the edge and crossed her legs, her eyes never leaving the boy who was now crouching and sweeping the leaves into a small pile with his hands.
She watched him closely—closer than he realized. She had noticed the way he'd been moving earlier. The sluggish pace, the absent-minded gestures, the way his eyes had seemed to look past the world around him. Something was bothering him. That much was clear.
After a brief silence, she spoke again, this time more softly.
Ms. Marie: So, what's eating you up, kiddo?
John froze mid-reach, a leaf slipping through his fingers. He hadn't expected her to notice his mood—let alone bring it up. For a moment, he considered brushing it off.
John: Nothing ma'am.
Ms. Marie raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. Her voice was gentle but firm.
Ms Marie: You sure about that? Because just before I got here, you looked like your head was somewhere far off. Like you were carrying the weight of the world in your back pocket instead of that trash bag.
John didn't say anything. He just continued picking up the last few leaves in silence, his thoughts swirling.
Once the final leaf was tucked away into the black plastic sack he'd been keeping folded in his back pocket, he sat back on his heels and stared at the ground for a long moment.
Should he tell her?
He wasn't sure. But then he remembered something—something he'd told her a while back. That she was the closest thing to a mother figure he had in his life right now. Ms. Marie had always looked out for him in ways others didn't. She didn't pry unnecessarily, but she also didn't let him drown in silence.
Maybe it was time to open up. He'd been going in circles trying to figure this out on his own, and it was getting him nowhere.
With a heavy sigh, he finally spoke.
John: How do you respond to someone when they tell you 'I love you?'