Dear Diary,
I barely slept last night. Maya and I stayed up until 4 a.m., sharing memories of that day we'd both tried so hard to forget. It's strange—talking about it with someone who was actually there makes it feel less heavy.
This morning I had my session with Mrs. De Wit. When I told her about Maya being at Springfield High too, she smiled like she already knew. "I had a feeling you two would connect," she said. "Sometimes the best support comes from those who truly understand."
At lunch, Sophie asked why Maya and I have been so close lately. For the first time, I didn't change the subject. "There was a fire at my old school," I said. "It was scary. That's why I transferred." The words felt strange coming out. I've spent months hiding this, and suddenly I'm just saying it. Out loud. Sophie squeezed my hand. "That must have been so hard." Lily nodded. They didn't ask questions or make it weird. They just accepted it. Maya caught my eye across the table and smiled.
In English, Mr. Thompson gave us an assignment: write about overcoming a challenge. The irony. For the first time, I'm actually considering writing about the fire. Not for the assignment, but for myself.
At dinner, I told my parents about Maya's connection to the fire. Mom had tears in her eyes. "I'm so glad you found each other." Dad squeezed my shoulder. "We're proud of you. For talking about it." Even my little sister noticed something shifted. "I'm glad you're not so sad anymore," she said. She's right. I'm not as sad anymore.
Later tonight, I actually wrote about that day. The chemistry lab, the smoke, the panic when I couldn't find the exit. My hand was shaking, but it felt necessary. Like something I needed to get out.
Maya texted right before I was planning to go to bed:
"You doing okay?"
"Yeah. Writing about it. Hard but good."
"Proud of you"
I'm proud of me too.
- G