“What are you doing?” The voice cut through the rush of water below me. My fingers were tightening around the rough stone parapet. One foot rested on the ledge; the other remained behind, undecided. I imagined the water folding over my head, muffling every sound until even my heartbeat disappeared. Yet, hearing distant chatter from my classmate going to school, I couldn't move. “What are you doing?” His voice felt like a rope dropped into a hole. “Emily! Catch my hand.” I tried to answer, but no sound came. Calling my name, he climbed over the parapet. Teetering beside me, he squeezed my hand. “The water sounds good,” he whispered. “I want to jump.” “Stop! I will get down.” I panicked. He smiled faintly. “This time I saved you, so let's walk together.” I stepped back down to safety. “I said go, Jordan.” The school bell still echoed as I hurried into class. My foot caught on a desk, and I crashed violently to the floor. Cruel laughter burst through the room. A sudden, loud bang shattered the mockery. Jordan had slammed his books onto his desk, glaring at the room. “Oh! It was an accident,” he scoffed. The teacher slammed his hand on the desk. “Enough!” he thundered, and the room fell silent. “Each one should choose his partner for next week's presentation.” Jordan raised his hand, staring right at me: “Emily and I, we are a group.” Whispering rippled across the room. The teacher turned to me. “Emily?” Knowing Jordan was the class troublemaker, the room held its breath. Under my breath, I whispered, “Okay.” “Get in, Emily,” Jordan called out over the rumble of the engine. The hum of the motor instantly pulled me back to that rainy night—the screech of metal, the shattered glass, the crushing silence that took my parents. My knees went weak. I gripped my bicycle handlebars until my knuckles turned white. “I don't ride in cars,” I choked out, pedaling away as fast as I could. Stepping inside, the warm scent of fresh bread greeted me as my grandma called from the kitchen. But the doorbell abruptly ruined the warm moment. I opened the door to find Jordan. “Hi, Emily!” I slammed the door in his face. My grandma reopened the door. “Welcome! I'm Jordan—Emily's friend—and we have to work on our presentation, so can I go with her?” She took him to the reception. Moments later, Jordan led me outside and flicked his bike bell: Ding-ding! “What do you think of mine?” He smirked: “Follow me.” As we rode, he peppered me with questions, but only one stuck: ‘Why won't you ride in my car?' “Can we return?” I whispered. “I'm sorry; really, I didn't mean anything. Can we just ride?” A silent war raged inside me as memories flooded back—the violent crash that took my parents. We arrived at a hidden lake. The water murmured endlessly, carrying the wind's secrets across its glassy surface. This simple whisper eased the tension from my body, leaving me completely at peace. Over the next few weeks, we returned often, talking and laughing. Then one afternoon, Jordan dived underwater and didn't come up. Five seconds. Ten. Twenty. “Jordan! Jordan!” I screamed, but the surface gave back only silence. When his head finally broke the water near the bank, I reached down and dragged him onto the shore, trembling. “Don't ever do that!” He sat beside me, shivering. “My whole life, people only saw a troublemaker. I come here because underwater is the only place where the noise stops.” Looking into his eyes, I realized the troublemaker everyone saw wasn't who he really was. I took a deep breath and finally revealed the truth about the car crash that took my parents. The next day in the cafeteria, somebody seized me by the hair. “The sweet girl with the troublemaker,” he sneered. Jordan's patience snapped. A heartbeat later, he lunged, sending the bully sprawling backward with a split lip. Panic filled my mind—the fear that he was destroying his life because of me. I snapped, “Stop, Jordan! You're going to ruin your life for me—please stop!” He froze, hurt flashing across his face, before turning and running away. Days slipped by. Every afternoon, I went to Jordan's house, but his sister always gave the same answer: he refused to see anyone. On the fifth day, no one answered. I went to the lake. On the damp shore lay his folded shirt, shoes, and wallet. On top sat a paper weighted by a stone. Emily, You didn't push me away. You were the only light in the room that was already dark. I tried to hold on, but noise got too loud. Please, don't carry this grief like you carried the rest. Love, laugh, and live for both of us. You aren't broken, Emily. Thank you for seeing me. Goodbye. I fell to my knees, screaming his name into the silence. Jordan was gone. But standing by the water where I once wanted to end my life, I realized the true gift. He had taught me how to feel again. Now, I am alive, not forgetting him, but honoring his memory.

If I had realized that a frayed rope and a rainy afternoon would eventually shatter my world, I never would have looked up from my sketchbook on that first day of school. But I did look up, and when I saw the girl with blue eyes standing in the class, I didn't perceive the end of a story—only its beginning. My name is Jeck Aarons; I live with my parents and three siblings in a remote home outside the city. Each day repeated like the last—until the new school year began. Vinnie and Avery mocked me in class, my older sisters ignored me at home, and teachers barely noticed my voice. When voices around me tried to silence who I was, I found refuge in my sketches.” My sketch was the sun that spilled golden light over my life. Even this hobby, my father mocked me, saying, “Your drawings are pointless.” The first school day promised nothing until a gorgeous girl called Leslie appeared, introduced by the principal. Leslie's gaze pierced me; I felt strange emotions when I looked at her blue eyes. I tried to ignore her energy. At recess, I saw Avery, the class bully, annoying the new girl. “This race is just for boys.” Without thinking, I went forward, asking, “Why?” “Are you afraid of losing against a girl?” Lina (my little sister) cheered me on, saying, “Go Jeck!” I was the forerunner. I was going to win. Or so I thought. Abruptly, a blur shot past me. It wasn't a boy. It was Leslie. She didn't just beat me; she woke me up. On the bus ride home, Leslie came to sit next to me, and I wondered, “Are you following me?” I asked. Then, we got off the bus, and I found her grinning, “Yes, I am your neighbor, and I think you need to learn how to have fun.” I wanted to say no. But something about it pulled me in. We got caught up in conversation, walking until the manicured lawns gave way to forest, and we reached a deep stream. Dangling above the water was an old, frayed rope; It looked dangerous, but Leslie didn't hesitate. She swung to the other bank. Leslie screamed, saying, “The Dark Master was here—let's define our kingdom.” Just then, I saw mystical shadows that possessed abilities like those of superheroes. This energy sensed me as well. We loitered until we found an arboreal shelter; thus, Leslie said, “It would be the headquarters for the Lunavara kingdom.” Little by little, we repaired the arboreal shelter while continuing to go daily after school. Once, while we were in Lunavara, the dark master sent his soldiers. We felt a unique power descend on us, such as invisibility. By morning, in school, “help Mrs. Zoya,” Leslie said. But I refused, and after that, I found Leslie pushing me toward Mrs. Zoya. As she looked at me, I asked her Can I help you? Mrs. Zoya said, “Are you speaking?” She perceived Leslie had an inspirational effect on me. She even looked at drawings, saying, “You are really talented.” I want to show Leslie how much she meant to me. I knew she wanted a pet, so when I found a puppy adoption flyer on my way home, I brought Leslie to Lunavara—I gave her a puppy—then she hugged me tightly, her eyes glistening, saying, “I will keep it forever.” On this rainy night, while we returned home, Leslie waved me off as if the world wouldn't allow another meeting. That weekend, Mrs. Zoya came to accompany me to the Museum of Art. For the first time, I stood in front of those paintings and felt truly seen; she explained the history behind each one, as if I were her son. I returned home, and the air was heavy. My family looked bitterly at me. “What?” I asked. My older sisters sarcastically said, “They thought you were dead.” My dad said, “Jeck…” His voice trembled. The words struck like lightning in my ears. My pulse sprinted, pounding against my ribs, each beat louder than the last. The room tilted, the floor slipping away beneath me. It's Leslie, he whispered. “Your friend Leslie is gone, as the old rope over the stream… it snapped, son.” I screamed, “No… no… You are a liar!” I ran to my room, gazing at Leslie's drawer until sleep came. The next morning, I began my day with breakfast as usual, pretending that yesterday was only a bad dream. But my mum breathed, “Get dressed, we have to go to the memorial.” Leslie's father hugged me, saying, “Leslie was so lonely in her old school; she really loved you.” While I was looking at Leslie's photo, Mrs. Zoya stood beside me; I said, “Next time we should take Leslie with us.” The days blurred together. I went to Lunavara. I was calling Leslie, and I thought I heard her reply. I ran crazily to look for her, but I found my sister. I shouted at her, forcing her to return home. Then, I felt the Dark master following me. Instinctively, I thought he would attack me, so I ran in fear—I stumbled. I found my dad hugging me. I broke down. “This was my fault,” I sobbed. If I were here, she would not have died. Now, Leslie may be gone, but our cherished memories are in every sketch, heartbeat, and breath I hold.