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Chapter 1 - voices Of The Unknown

Hello, I'm Aria. I'm sixteen—a seemingly ordinary teenager with a life that looks normal from the outside. But life isn't perfect. There's always something unusual, something extraordinary—and maybe that's why qualities like bravery, kindness, and curiosity matter so much.

I thought my life was ordinary. I studied at a government school, lived with my parents and little brother, and followed the predictable rhythms of daily life. Everything seemed fine… but perfection is only an illusion.

It was the 21st of December—my birthday. I woke up, but something felt different. Instead of the familiar chirping of birds or the sound of my alarm clock, I woke to unknown echoes.

Curious, I looked out the window. The street was empty. In the living room, my dad was reading the newspaper, and my mom was busy cooking. Even outside, the silence pressed on me, only deepening my curiosity.

Then, suddenly—

"Hey, this is mine!"

"No, I found it first!"

I looked up at a tree. Two squirrels were jostling over a nut. I froze—shocked, yet not entirely surprised, as if a small part of me had expected this.

As I glanced around, I realized something extraordinary was happening. The animals—birds, snakes, ants, tiny turtles, frogs, butterflies, squirrels—were all talking to each other!

I had never truly noticed them before. They had always been there, visible yet invisible. We see the world, but sometimes we choose to ignore its most meaningful details.

My heart pounded. A nervous flutter wrapped around me, but I gathered my courage.

"Hey… can you hear me? Am I really hearing your voices?"

The squirrels stopped, staring at me. Silence stretched for a moment—until a small bird sighed, "Not again."

Confused, I frowned. "What do you mean, 'not again'?"

One squirrel tilted its head. "Yes, you can hear us—and you can talk to us."

"My… how? Why me?"

The other shrugged. "We don't know. Sometimes, there are those who can hear us—just like you."

"Are there others?"

"We don't know their identities," one squirrel said, "but we can recognize them… or take you to where they met us."

I hesitated, then said, "If I want the truth, I have to meet them. I need to understand what's really happening."

I went inside for breakfast.

"Where have you been so long?" my mom asked.

"Just getting some fresh air," I replied with a smile.

"Well, happy birthday!" she said.

"Aww, thank you," I answered.

Just then, my dad entered. "Tonight we've organized a party. You can invite your friends."

I nodded. After a pause, I said, "Mom, Dad, I'm going out after breakfast."

"Where?" they asked, surprised.

"Actually… I just want to wander a bit," I admitted, keeping my secret.

My mom smiled. "Okay, but don't wander too far—or we'll call the search police!"

We all laughed.

While we walked, I asked the squirrel, "Can you tell me about the person you met? How many are there?"

He paused. "Yes. The person is about your age. I've only met one. If you want to meet others, you'll have to find the other animals who have met them."

Curiosity grew with every word. He led me to a quiet park, almost deserted.

"Where is the person?" I asked.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I just met them here."

I settled on a bench, scanning the empty park. Hours passed, yet no one appeared.

Finally, the squirrel spoke. "Sorry, I have to go now."

I didn't stop him.

"Are you not leaving?" he asked.

"No," I said firmly. "I'll wait a little longer. The person will come."

He disappeared quietly among the trees.

Exhaustion eventually claimed me, and I dozed off. Then, a soft, distant melody drifted to my ears, carried by the wind. My eyes fluttered open. At first, I thought it might be another animal.

But then I saw him—a boy in a grey T-shirt and black pants, sitting beneath a tree, sketching with careful, fluid movements. The tune he hummed was delicate, almost wistful, as if it belonged to a world just beyond my reach. My chest tightened in a strange, inexplicable way.

Our eyes met. He looked up, meeting my gaze with a quiet, steady calm. A faint smile tugged at his lips—not forced, not shy, just… natural. My heart skipped, but not in a frantic way; it was soft, tentative, like discovering a new color you didn't know existed.

I felt an invisible thread pulling me closer, urging me to sit nearby, to just be present in the same space. Words stumbled out of my mouth, hesitant:

"Do… do you understand the animals? Can you talk to them?"

He tilted his head, considering, and nodded gently. There was no rush in his movements, no pressure—just a quiet understanding, as if he'd been waiting for me to find him.

I laughed softly, a little embarrassed by my own awkwardness. Yet in that moment, surrounded by the fading sunlight and the soft hum of life around us, everything felt… possible. Not magical, not unreal—just real, fragile, and beautiful.

For a moment, the world held its breath. And in that gentle pause, I realized something: some connections don't need words. They are felt, quietly, deeply, and in a way that stays with you long after the moment has passed.

And somehow, I knew this was just the beginning.

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