"Thank you to everyone reading this story. It means a lot to me, and I hope it touches your heart too."
That night, in the deep silence of her room, Elya opened her father's journal once more. Each page seemed to hold a forgotten world — a world where emotions weren't forbidden but celebrated. She read memories, stories of ancient rebellions, and above all, words heavy with meaning.
"They stole our humanity," her father had written. "By removing what makes us alive. This serum, SERENEX, didn't just erase pain, it destroyed love, anger, joy. But the real fight is still ahead."
Elya felt her heart tighten. Everything she had learned at the academy was being challenged by these words. What if the government wasn't the savior, but simply a prisoner of its own fear?
The more she read, the more she realized that this journal was a call.
A call to remember, to feel. But above all, to resist.
A shiver ran through her. She had just uncovered a secret that could change her life... and perhaps the fate of the entire world.
---
The next morning, after the discovery, daylight had already risen when Elya struggled to get out of bed. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, still haunted by what she had learned.
She fought between two sides of herself — one longing to stay in her room and keep reading, rereading those forbidden words, and the other knowing that any absence would raise suspicions. The slightest misstep could attract dangerous attention.
So she took a deep breath, showered, put on her uniform, and slipped the journal carefully into the lining of her bag.
Every step toward the academy felt heavier than the last. The buildings seemed more suffocating, the faces emptier than the day before.
In the cold and silent hallways, she felt a new weight pressing down on her. She moved like a shadow, silently repeating the journal's most striking lines:
"Emotions are our freedom."
And more chillingly:
"Trust no one."
A phrase her mother had often repeated, almost absentmindedly. She had always thought it was symbolic. But seeing it written in her father's journal gave it a far more serious tone — almost a warning.
She couldn't just blindly follow the rules anymore. Something inside her had shifted.
During class, her thoughts kept drifting back to her father's words — to this hidden truth behind the veil of peace. It continued like that until snack time.
"You seem distant, Elya. Are you alright?"
She looked up and met Aedan's gaze — the class delegate — a cold, analytical stare, completely devoid of judgment or compassion. He was charming in a distant way, known for his sense of responsibility and impressive composure.
"I… I was just thinking about something important," she replied nervously.
Aedan raised an eyebrow, his face unreadable, and answered:
"Elya," he said calmly, his tone cold, "your lack of focus is affecting the class dynamic. I advise you to put aside whatever is distracting you. Respect for rules and intellectual discipline are essential here."
She nodded, lowering her gaze. But just as he turned to leave, he added:
"If something's troubling you, I can help."
That phrase struck her. Despite the mechanical tone, she thought she sensed the tiniest crack — a flicker of doubt? Or maybe just the illusion of learned empathy.
She almost accepted. But then, those words returned to her like an echo:
"Trust no one."
She smiled politely.
"Thank you, Aedan, but it's nothing. Just a little lack of sleep."
He watched her for a moment, then walked away. She followed him with her eyes, torn.
What if he was sincere? What if he was just a pawn like the others?
Or worse… what if he was an informant?
---
That evening, back home, she locked her door and sat on her bed.
She opened the journal again, this time to an older page. The handwriting was shaky, harder to read. A date: March 23, 2519.
"Today, I saw a child cry. It was forbidden. But his tears were so beautiful. I didn't have the heart to report him. That day, I realized that emotions are more human than all their rules combined."
A tear ran down Elya's cheek. Not from sadness. Not from fear.
A tear of truth.
And in a world without emotions, that was already an act of rebellion.