He never talked. He never moved in a weird way. He only stared. He spent hours and hours looking at everyone in that mysterious way. At that old bench. Dressed all black. Just looking. I didn't have any reasons, but he scared me. A lot. I don't know why. Don´t ask me. In the way from school to my house I need to walk across the park where he sat. I just didn´t look at him. Period. I just walk away as quickly as I could. But one day all was different. One day he did not just look. That was the day when I nearly die. It was a normal day, bad stuff at school, nothing else. The moon and, with her, the night were starting to appear. I was very concentrated and focused on what I was doing. That day I was not paying so much attention on everyone else. And he noticed it. I was looking at my book when I walked across the park, a bit slower than other times. He was there, as always, just staring. I did not notice that, for the first time in probably ages, he stood up. He moved and started walking behind me, very calmly. I was not noticing at all. I walked through one and even two main streets, but in my way home I needed to cross a little and lonely passage. It has only closed shops and no one can look at it without being physically in it. That was when he decided to act. He stopped walking and he moved his mouth. -Hey- he said. I stopped my way, cold as ice, and, in a very slowly way, I turned around. It was him. Again. And he was not in the bench, his was walking to me. I froze, couldn´t move. I started to run, but it was too late. He reached me with his big arms and brutally pushed me to the wall. A very cold wall. He then decided to take out his clothing, one by one, while with one hand was grabbing my neck. I tried to shout, but, for this time, my mouth was shut, it was impossible to me. I just couldn't do it. I had to see a very unpleasant vision of an adult man without any clothing. And it was my turn. I tried, somehow, to resist, but it was impossible. I was without any clothing. My brain was trying to react, but I stood still. Then I did shout. Damn, of course I did. It was the mixed feeling of the beginning of a trauma and the unpleasant experience that I was being forced to have. All of a sudden, everything finished. He dressed up and he vanished. I was devastated. Then, I just cried. I threw all the tension and fear I had been feeling the last ten minutes and, don't ask me why, I ran back home. After that, everything changed. I, one way or another, turned out to be more mature and, also, more suspicious about everything, and everyone. That day, I began a new life, I was a new version of myself. Just ten years after the first had started. That was the day, when I died.

Whenever undertakers show up people always try to avoid contact as if they bring death or something so growing up i thought death has to be a body six feet under, first time meeting death was grandpa's death all I remember is mama crying, aunt on the ground and people all over the place wearing black like ALOT surprisingly they were yapping and acting like its an occasion to catch up like nothing happened ,I was a bit confused why do you show up if you really don't care? two years passes and here we meet again this time with dad got a call at school to go see dad at the hospital same scene all wearing black but this time they were all crying as I entered on dad I saw him but it didn't feel like him he was so cold like he was really soulless fear found me that time i got out of the room got out away all what i could say that i am ok, i went to the only place where i knew i will not have to deal with it to the pool spent there all day from waking up till i go home to bed and with my sister of choice it felt like nothing happened. nationals coming i trained harder than ever as every time I entered the pool I swam as sharks were chasing the faster i go the more silence i had tired body yes but muted mind just a week before my race got chickenpox sitting alone between those 4 walls felt as a mice trapped with a cat that is trying to kill him my mind was merciless blaming me for everything i couldn't sleep for 3 days itching body crazy mind felt like that this my end till my girl stepped in and helped and helped me realize that its ok nothing happened because of me, days passed and as i got better i was offered a job as swimming coach accepted with no hesitation chlorine smell is back in my hair this time I am the mentor ,that was the best time of my life. That friend we started talking less but that's ok that how it have been around us since childhood we both knew as we meet it will be like we never left or at least that's what i thought as she started ignoring me something felt wrong the more i try to approach her she runs new semester started I saw her at school went to talk to her she ignored me again. I really don't know what did I do? I kept texting , calling ,sent her a video of younger us saying how we will be together forever she saw it and then responded with a react after 3 days, that when i knew she is no longer the same person found her at school after that hanging with girls she used to yap how much she disliked them I felt real betrayal how can she even do that to me I trusted her as a family even more she was more than blood to me and I was a part of her family too! that's a betrayal you forgot 15 years? crying laughing everything together and for what I really don't know what happened as time passed I drown myself in work but that wasn't even powerful enough I don't miss her at midnight i missed her in the most crowed places and in my biggest achievements she was missing her spot was empty and she is the only person I really want by my side . As I trained more swimmers there were grandma's who came to train as there grandchildren watched , introducing kids to the water and seeing the hunger in young swimmers there, sprinting with my whistle , they think i am the one who taught them something new but they are the ones who came to me with wisdom every swimmer has a story and a lesson for me to learn specially those adults . I finally reached peace and that I need to let people die stop chasing not only those who are 6 feet under put in by undertakers but also those who breath i realized the girl i knew is dead so I have to grieve it and honor our memories that new girl is some one i don't know anything about as she don't either soka my dog just died months ago she was my last shared memory with dad she went to be there with him and the girl I never imagined she won't be there to get me out or i won't be there in her wedding as we dreamed wasn't there. something I learned too that when someone dies you don't try to bring them back cause they will come as a ghost or a vampire and from we knew from drama they aren't much friendly(except if he was Niklaus Mikaelson of course) people are stages in life god send them to help you through something and then leave ,same thing with you .even if you thought they will stay forever; enjoy the moment while you can and make peace with death it means someone's message is delivered as all I said hurt but it developed my character maybe god took them away cause they won't fit in the next chapter it doesn't matter if they died in a grave or in life make peace with yourself as that's the only one who is not just a chapter its the hero of the story love him so you can make a rememberable character out of him. True death happens when you get forgotten.

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I remember how she looked down without a hint of uncertainty; she just looked there before giving it all up. I can't forget how quiet it was after she had done it. Everyone just stared……. 24 of September 2021. It was a Friday. The day I started to like speeches…. Why? No idea. I was 13, I didn't use to pay attention to any speech before but that exact day I wanted to listen, we can say the speech itself kinda pulled me. Anyways, that exact speech was about suicide, It was the first time I felt that weird feeling… fear?.... sadness?.. No, it was a mix of disgust, surprise, horror. It was something I can't really call. After like ten minutes of that speech at my home I decided to go look out of the window which was a decision I will regret for the rest of my life; I saw people walking here and there until I saw them…. two kids were looking out of their window and playing… then they just fell….I wanted to yell, scream, tell anyone but I couldn't I was just freezing looking down seeing the two kids lying in their own blood. People were rushing there but they couldn't do anything except watch, covering their kids' eyes and rushing to their own homes. Five minutes later the mother of the two kids was freaking out, where her precious kids could disappear, she looked through the window seeing them down there I didn't catch her look clearly, but I can imagine how desperate she looked, how she wanted all of this to be a dream. In the blink of an eye, she went inside and came back standing on the edge of the window. More people started gathering screaming telling her not to do it. But no one dared to go up the stairs and save her, they didn't even try to gather down there holding anything to catch her. All they did was scream, did they really want her to be saved? Or they just wanted to make themselves feel like they did anything good. That doesn't matter, they all got quiet the moment she jumped, no one of them dared to move, to even put a hand to catch her, they just froze and covered her face after she died and left. Was this all a show to them to just watch and leave? Or just 3 minutes advertisement for death. How the people that wasn't even there dared to help victimized the only one who ran upstairs and tried to save her “HER HUSBAND”. It made me realize how selfish people are, how all they care about is how they look, how desperate they want to make their brain think they did enough while they didn't. Now I am 17 and I still can remember clearly the full accident when I look through that exact window at my house, I just remember the exact thing that happened, and I can't forget it. Sometimes I wish I just slept late that night and woke up late that day.

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In the world of known and unknown, a day can't be counted without a single dream flight; A girl there with hope and little steps tries to seek wisdom and light. Nature gives us the best lesson Without notifying us of the reason, If one can find the actual cause Everything in life will make a good job. From waking up in the morning she glimpses the sun Always regular and never miss the fun, From her mother, she learns to be kind Evil and mischief should not be in her mind, Her father, an engineer wise and bright Showed her wonders of logic and light, He helped her to figure out her mind She learned how her brain how was designed. Seeing her garden blooming and smiling Make her spirit jump and twirling, Mango trees, rooted in deep and strong Teach her, where she belongs, Chirping birds made her find her tune Their melody has painted a stunning afternoon, Squirrel taught her amusement and cheer Birds taught her to spread her wings without fear. Sky taught her to have a big heart It is never too late for a fresh new start, Soil taught her to make her base strong Expressing her feeling is never wrong. She learned to listen, understand others, and share And lend a hand, showing she truly cares, The river of time keeps flowing It shows that there is no time for waste, The present will turn into past Enjoy it as it is your last, Through the Mangrove forest 1, she wandered wide Where the wise owls perched, their knowledge and guide, By climbing the Tazing Dong 2 she learned to push herself for the best Which helped her never give up on a sudden test. Worker ants took her boredom away A tireless work to assemble a future day by day, She found her glow to shine in the darkest night Forgiving others is better than a fight, Moon's peaceful glow is painting the sky with grace Told tales of peace and serenity to embrace, She likes to calm her mind with the sound of rain A perfect partner is a cup of chai 3. Stormy nights when the thunder roared and the lighting danced Made her fearless to take every chance, From the busiest city, she set up her inspiration Working hard just to make her creation, She explored her passion without any hesitation Finding her way has no expiration, Each day she takes lessons from a profession She knows knowledge is the key to her liberation. Like farmers plant seeds in the soil Teacher plant knowledge to not make the mind a foil, They help by teaching young mind They are after our parents in our respect line, One can never conceal the truth Lawyers teach, speaking the truth is a ripe fruit, Her grandfather, a freedom fighter teaches her to fight When it comes to rights, Artist Missy taught her how to print a picture Painting can be a mood fixer. By working hard one can go to the moon Achieving Smart Bangladesh is going to be very soon, Farmers grow crops full of patience Success cannot be seen if you are impatience, Police catch the criminals to keep us safe So we can have better days. To show the world current news Journalists work without any excuse, Brother like Tom needs to be everywhere So anyone can get help anywhere, He works for those who are in demand, the poor and the sick The one who has kept back, for one has been kicked, Athlete taught her to break her limit Create a record of every single minute, From next door firefighter, she learned about fear and sacrifice Fear didn't hold her back tonight, They fight for our future and our generation So there can be no more separation, Sacrificing own rest is normal When it comes to saving a life, The doctor gave her every minute So anyone don't lose their inner spirit, They are our only hope And helps us to understand how to cope. She should follow her dreams wherever she goes Let her shine according to her inner glow, She learned to adapt, to go with the flow Navigating life's currents, wherever they'd bestow, It is normal to learn early or late Do the right so you don't end up with a bad fate, It is funny everything was a lesson To help us all to find our passion. Learning from nature and its surrounding is free To learn you don't need to achieve a degree, Look around and feel the world One can't describe its morals in words, Age is just a number When it comes to becoming a moral learner, So let us not be held by our age When it is judged by the calendar page, Let's learn a lesson with an open and pure heart So society can shine by our parts, Let's all sing-song of humanity And follow everything that Mother Nature has taught.

One day, in an increasingly large and crowded metropolis, there was a tiny store, which was specialized in selling books. It was owned by Clara who inherited the store from her parents. The bookstore was the one place that Clara adored with its climate-controlled structure, its old wooden floor, and dusty books all over the place. This place had once been her haven when she faced the worst in her life; thus, she managed it as her parents used to do. There is a story I heard and very much believe to be true: there was a girl named Mia and one day she visited the store. She was perhaps eight years old with big round eyes with the look of a child full of questions and Fabian was rather shy. She strolled around the shelves of the store rubbing the backs of the books with her hand but did not select one. Noticing this, Clara followed the girl and tried to talk to her though the girl seemed surprised and a bit reluctant. “Is there something I can help you find?” Clara asked gently. Mia looked up at her, then down at her shoes. “I'm looking for something… something special.” Clara knelt to the girl's level. “What kind of special thing are you looking for?” The girl paused for a brief moment then cleared her throat and softly said, “My brother is sick. Sick. ” She continued to breathe something ragged before adding, “He's in the hospital, and… I need something to help him feel better. ” Clara could feel a sharp squeeze in her breast at the girl's words. She recalled deep disappointment and hopelessness when a dear person was sick Surrey made a decision that a petty action in such a situation could help Mia to ease her burden She took her by the hand and led her to the corner of the shop where there was a solitary shelf with several sheets of origami paper and a couple of books on how to fold the paper crane. “Yes, it is about a child, a girl, who folded a thousand paper cranes with her own hands for her sick mother”, smiled Clara. Mia shook her head. Clara smiled. It is generally believed that when one has folded one thousand origami cranes, the gods will grant the person a wish; it is a Japanese belief often associated with good health. Mia stared with wide eyes and Clara succeeded in seeing hope in her eyes. “Would it do my brother any good?” Clara nodded. “Maybe it could somehow make him more comfortable and who knows, maybe even magical, don't you think we should try making them together?” Weeks passed and Mia came to the bookstore every day after classes. And she was with Clara in the corner where flannel blankets were wrapped around the books and the bright sheets of paper, making crane upon crane. It was when Clara in the simplicity of showing Mia how to fold a simple bird out of an A4-sized paper that one saw that Clara possessed impeccable dexterity. Days went by and people began to notice what Mia was doing to her co-workers. Gradually, it became customary in the bookstore that Mia and Clara receive paper cranes from those customers who had originally folded them at home, or from people who came into the store to fold paper cranes along with Mia and Clara. Thus, the little bookstore turned into a hopeful place and people of different backgrounds assisted Mia in achieving her dream. A month later, effort was made to fold the last crane, which was the thousandth crane. The two girls properly put the cranes in a big box and the following day, Mia took them to the hospital. When she got to her brother's room, he was confined to bed more weakened than before but the look of joy which was evident in his eyes said a lot when he saw the box of colorful cranes. ‘Here are yours,' Mia said gently. “Each one is a wish for you to get better,” Telling this sad story and looking at the cranes which were made with love and hope her brother cries. He rose and went towards his sister grabbing her hand firmly. For the next few weeks, something quite out of the ordinary started to happen. This time was promising for Mia's brother as he started to recover. The doctors were filled with delight after seeing him fully recover, one even stated that was a very rare occurrence. Mia however was convinced by the other view that there was magic in the cranes, the love that was embraced within each of the pieces. The cranes were suspended from the ceiling of his hospital as a constant reminder to Marge that no matter how bad things are there will always be a tomorrow. And although life is fragile and many times tough, still kindness and love no matter how small can make a world of difference. Years later, Mia and her brother would often come to the bookstore and it has become their source of with full memories of hope and healing. Every time they looked at it, they would regard the strength of a wish, the sister's love, and the mystery of the existence of magic in this world.

A mother's love is a quiet strength, a constant presence that nurtures, protects, and guides. In every family, mothers play an irreplaceable role, balancing countless responsibilities with grace and courage. Being a mother isn't just a job; it's a journey filled with love, sacrifice, and the everyday heroism of caring for others. Being a mother is one of the most challenging and rewarding roles imaginable. Mothers are the ultimate givers, often putting their children's needs above their own without a second thought. They are willing to bear any burden and would gladly take on all the pain to shield their children from hurt. This incredible love and selflessness are truly unmatched. From the moment we are born, our mothers become our first caregivers and protectors. They are there for every milestone, whether it's a scraped knee or a big life decision, offering comfort and guidance. They dress us, feed us, and create a safe space where we can grow and flourish. No one else in our lives thinks and cares for us quite like our mothers do. This is why our mothers deserve our deepest love and respect. They are the silent heroes who work tirelessly, often without recognition, to ensure our happiness and success. Their love is a constant, unwavering force, and their sacrifices are the foundation of everything we are and everything we aspire to be. In the quiet moments and the loud, in the joys and the struggles, mothers stand as pillars of strength and love. They are the unsung heroes whose every day is filled with acts of kindness, sacrifice, and courage. A mother's job is never done; it is a lifelong journey that shapes the lives of their children in profound ways.

A sudden crash jolted me awake. Yells of surprise followed, the sound seemed to have come from the kitchen, perhaps someone broke a plate. I could smell something tempting—fish frying. My belly rumbled in response, I couldn't ignore the lure of that delicious aroma. I slipped out of my makeshift house—the old, dusty store near the family's home. My stealthy steps were silent as I navigated past the garden, careful not to alert the dogs. The clattering of plates being set for dinner can be heard from outside. I settled in front of the kitchen door, a sliver of light slipping through the gap beneath it. The sun had set, and darkness covered everything, except for the comforting glow from the kitchen. As the family enjoyed their meal, I waited, hoping for a crumb or two. Though I wasn't adopted by them, I reside in this family's abandoned store. I'm just a stray—one of the many cats wandering the neighborhood in search of food. My days were spent hunting rats and scavenging garbage bins. When hunting failed, I'd sneak into houses and swipe whatever scraps I could find. Humans almost never greeted me warmly. They can be cruel. All I wanted was to fill my belly but they'd chased me away with brooms and slippers. I learned that leftovers from the kitchen sink would get me in less trouble than the more tempting food on the dining table. Yet, occasionally, the allure of the table's offerings was too strong, and I would risk a snatch. Once, a human caught me stealing a chicken leg. It was smaller than most adults but bigger than the little ones who screamed and chased me. Expecting a slipper to fly my way, I darted out of the house. But when I returned later that evening, I was met with an unexpected kindness. Instead of scolding, it offered me food from a bowl. It was the same food they gave to the dogs. It had a meaty aroma with faint traces of chicken. The dogs in this household lived in luxury, with humans going through the trouble of drying mashed chicken and shaping it into small circles for them. The family had finished eating, and I heard them preparing food for the dogs. The clinking of metal bowls and the sound of kibble being poured made me drool a bit. The kitchen door creaked open, a normal-sized human appeared—it was the mother. It wore its outdoor slippers and its gaze fell on me. Our eyes met briefly before it said sharply, “Why are you here, filthy parasite? Go away!” Its words stung. It's true my actions are considered parasitic as I, a stranger, welcomed myself in this household and live off a family who isn't mine. Yet, being likened to the ticks biting my fur made me pity and disgust myself. I scurried away, hiding behind the old outdoor restroom close enough to the kitchen for its light to reach. After the mother fed the dogs, it glared at me and warned me not to eat the dogs' food. I'm not foolish to try—those dogs were eight times my size. They'd rip me apart if I attempted to steal their food. Rain began to fall, the gentle drizzle prompted the mother to return inside. As the doors closed, I was left in the darkness. I slipped inside the restroom for shelter. The rain quickly picked up, and in the silence, I could only hear the dogs' loud munching and the increasing pitter-patter of rain on the stones. If the rain continued, it would be a cold night. I needed to get back to the shack or risk staying in the restroom till it stops. As I was about to leave, the kitchen door swung open again. A bright light spilled out, and I saw a silhouette, smaller than that of the mother—it was the little human. It had a bowl in its hand. “Oh good, you're still here!” it said with a hint of concern. It crouched down and dumped a small pile of fish bones near me. “Luckily, Mother didn't give these to the dogs,” it said, “I left a bit of meat on mine for you.” Some of the bones had bits of meat, not much, but enough. "Better eat that before the rain pours down," it said, then closed the door. The fish bones lacked the aroma of the cooked fish I had smelled earlier, not even close to the faint scent of the dogs' food. They barely had any meat and weren't very appetizing. But food is food; one must eat whatever they can to avoid starving. With the rain pouring down harder, I quickly gathered the fish bones and dashed back to the shack, each step hurried by the increasing intensity of the storm. Once I had transferred all the fish bones to the shack, I called to wake my young ones. They responded with their tiny voices. I checked on them, licking their fur as they nibbled on their meal. Afterward, I cleaned myself, my fur wet from the rain. The storm grew louder, a heavy downpour that seemed endless. After my little ones had finished their meal, I curled up with them, seeking warmth amidst the pile of old fabrics. The rain continued to rage outside, but we were safe for now. We survived another night, with bellies barely full, huddled together in our small refuge.

When I was ten years old, summer began with unexpected news: my parents sent me to stay with my uncle in the village for a month. I was a little nervous because we had rarely met before and were not close. My uncle greeted me with a smile and a firm handshake. We arrived at his place and a cozy house and a spacious yard with a vegetable garden and a barn were waiting for me. From the first day, I began to help my uncle: we worked in the garden, fed the chickens and took care of the cow. But the most interesting thing is that my uncle had a small apiary, and he decided to teach me beekeeping. The first day at the apiary, I was scared. Bees seemed scary and dangerous to me, and I didn't know how to approach them. But my uncle calmly explained to me that bees are hardworking and wise creatures, and they will not cause harm if they are not disturbed. We put on our protective suits and got to work. My uncle showed me how to properly handle hives, collect honey and take care of bees. One day, when my uncle went to work, I was left alone in the apiary. Suddenly I saw that one of the hives was leaning over and was about to fall. Without hesitation, I hurried to rectify the situation. It was scary, the bees got excited and started spinning. But I remembered my uncle's words that the main thing is not to be afraid and to remain calm. I carefully leveled the hive and calmed the bees. When my uncle returned, he praised me for my bravery and responsibility. This situation taught me an important lesson: fear can be overcome by acting confidently and calmly, and also showed the importance of being ready to help in a difficult situation and take responsibility. These summer days not only taught me new skills, but also helped me become bolder and more confident. When I returned home, I began to look at the world in a different way: I realized that problems are just trials that help us grow and become stronger.

What drives a person crazy? What differentiates a crazy person from a sane one? I can't define it, but I see a thin line between insanity & consciousness, making it hard to distinguish at times. Even the "crazy" claim they're sane. Psychiatry labels psychiatric patients as sane but flawed due to brain function issues. Yet, I feel like a spectacle for those around me. I'm not crazy I'm just sick. I looked up from my notes to see whispers & glances directed at me. Dirk loves to philosophize, & while his ideas annoy me, I oddly agree with some. "How do they let this psycho exist in the university?!” I overheard. They view me as the odd one, Leo or as my father called me, the mental hospital's owner. I fled to engineering to escape the chaos. Ironically, I have dissociative identity disorder (DID), with seven personalities. Each has its voice & story, explaining their stares. My father keeps me out of the hospital, dosing me with sedatives to manage my personality. I hear them all, yet I don't know who the real me is. I mostly stay in control, except when Dirk's philosophy sneaks in or Jack shows up during bullying. As I approached my locker, I found a letter. I hesitated to open it until I saw the sender: Jana, my twin sister, in an asylum. Is insanity hereditary? I ponder our mother's dementia & my disorder. I finally opened the letter, only to find a piece of wood shaped like an X .tell me again how she sent it from the mental asylum. Then I heard the café news about a patient escaping: Jana Oris! This might explain her message. I'd never seen her as crazy; she was brilliant—until she became uncontrollably agitated & vanished for days. My father had tested her for mental issues, & that news hit hard. If she's crazy, can I trust anyone? At home, I examined the letter: “Cd Zkved Mrebm, Wsxrd, Nyxd doky Ieb Wonsmkdsyx.” The “X” was the key, representing ten. William, my analytical side, easily recognized it as Caesar's cipher. “The key tells how many letters to shift.” He explained the process, & I impatiently awaited the results. Soon, the message formed“St. Paul's Church, midnight, do not take your medication.” Why not take my meds? "idiot, there's another card!” William pointed out. I pulled it from the envelope, finding an old newspaper with headlines about hidden experiments & madness drugs. The date? 2004 I grabbed the letter again, trying to connect this newspaper with the encrypted message. Something felt off. Did Jana discover something dangerous, & Dad accused her of being crazy? Would he send her to an asylum for that reason? What about my medications? Is there something wrong with it? This is Illogical! Thoughts crashed in my mind. I placed the paper on the desk & noticed large writing on the back of the newspaper, which I initially thought was scribbles. My eyes widened at the sentence, “You were not sick.” I stepped away, breathing heavily. Is she honest? Not crazy? What if the medications caused my illness? Am I real, or just a personality created by the disease? Am I really sick? I sighed violently, feeling like crying for the first time since crying had left me. Everything will become clear tonight! When midnight arrived, I was in church until I heard her around from the corner. “I know you have questions,” she began. I shot back without sitting down, "What's the truth? You & my dad? Am I sick?! "Not your dad!" she sighed. I stared as she revealed a piece of paper. “We were adopted after our mother died in his hospital.” My features froze staring at the paper & my dad's signature. Your illness is not normal. It's from medications our father gave you for experiments.” Anger & shock surged inside me. “Do you have proof? That newspaper says there will be an investigation! How do I know this isn't another delusion?” Jana pulled out a stack of papers. “It's all here! I've searched for the truth.”The more I read, the more shocked I became. Details on the experiments & drugs made, the world collapse around me. Different personalities fought for control, all of them. Their voices clashed in my head, laughter mixed with screams, while I squatted, hugging my shoulders., begging to calm down, but Jana watched anxiously. As I trembled, she held me tight despite Jack's resistance. “Leo, I'm here. I won't leave you, everything will be ok! Don't be afraid!”I began to cry while she whispered reassurances. For the first time, I felt safe, knowing I wasn't alone. “I'm here for you, brother. We'll heal together. You're stronger than you think” Her words reignited hope within me. I felt the weight of my suffering lighten, replaced with determination to reclaim my life. With Jana by my side, we'll face what's coming. The road won't be easy, my dad, confronting him, informing the police. But together, piece by piece. As dawn broke, light crept through the church windows, illuminating our path. Embracing each other, we stepped out of the shadows, ready to face a hopeful but dangerous future.

Ever since I was a little brat with pigtails, art has always fascinated me. My mother said I would draw on every surface I could find—from the cupboards to the dressers, to the TV screen. If it could be scribbled on, my tiny baby hands, barely able to hold a crayon, were all over it. When I finally moved on to actual paper, I would get lost in the worlds I created, inventing stories for the characters I drew. By middle school, I was the kid in the back of the class, sketching away to my heart's content. I remember one time, a classmate asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. Having no interests besides drawing, I told them I had no idea. They suggested, “What about those people who draw cartoons? You draw a lot, and you're good at it!” That comment stuck with me. When I got home, I went straight to our old Dell computer and looked up "people who draw cartoons," and according to Google, they were called "animators." Maybe it was the satisfaction of someone besides my mom acknowledging my work, or perhaps it was the realization that this could be an actual career, but I became fixated. I imagined myself working at a big animation company, sipping on my drink while doing what I loved most. Little me made it her mission to become an animator one day. I spent countless hours researching and watching tutorials on how to improve my art. My sketch pad was always with me, constantly trying to get better. But there was something missing. Every animation tutorial I watched featured a “drawing tablet.” Seeing this, little me wanted one desperately, but I knew I couldn't ask my mom for it. She was already working two jobs to support me and my three other siblings. I didn't want to burden her any further. So, I found ways to earn the money myself. I offered my drawing services to my classmates in exchange for cash, knocked on neighbors' doors to walk their dogs, and did chores for other people—I did everything I could to raise the money. Every peso I saved felt like a step closer to my dream. I remember the thrill of holding a crisp bill in my hand after walking Mrs. Garcia's dog for a week straight. It felt like victory, and I was convinced that nothing could stop me. My mom noticed my extra energy. She never asked why, but I could see the pride in her eyes every time I showed her the little money I had saved, telling her it was for my future. A couple of weeks went by, and my piggy bank grew heavier. I could barely contain my excitement when I finally had enough to buy the drawing tablet. I remember running to my mom, showing her the money I had saved. Just when I thought I was about to hold the tablet in my hands, life took an unexpected turn. My grandma fell seriously ill, and suddenly, every bit of money we had became crucial. Without hesitation, I offered my savings to help with her medical expenses. My mom was reluctant to accept it, knowing how much I had worked for it, but I insisted. My dream could wait; my grandma's health couldn't. The months that followed were tough. We watched over grandma, praying for her recovery. By some miracle, she got better, and we were all so relieved. Though my dream of owning a drawing tablet seemed further away, my heart was full knowing my Nana was okay and I had helped in a small way. When Christmas rolled around, I didn't expect much. We had spent so much on the hospital bills, I knew there wasn't much left for presents. But on Christmas morning, as we gathered around the tree, my mom handed me a box wrapped in bright red paper. I slowly unwrapped the gift, my hands trembling. I couldn't believe it—inside was the drawing tablet! With tears in my eyes, I looked up at my mom. She smiled and told me she had taken on extra shifts at work to buy it. That moment was pure magic. I hugged my mom tightly, overwhelmed with gratitude. She had always been my biggest supporter, and this was the greatest gift she could have given me. I plugged in the tablet immediately; the feel of the stylus in my hand just felt so right. My imagination had found a new playground. I was practically glued to my tablet, practicing my technique every day. As my art improved, so did my confidence. So, I decided to start sharing my work online, making connections with other artists and like-minded people. High school came and went, and I had my sights set on animation school. Although the road wasn't easy, I was determined. Today, as I sit in my college dorm room, going to my dream school, I often think back to those early days. The determination, the hard work, and the belief that I could make it all seemed like a distant dream. But it was real, and it was mine. I dedicate everything I have achieved and will achieve to my mom. My journey from a little brat with pigtails drawing on cupboards to a budding animator has been filled with challenges and triumphs, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Aisha sat silently in her wheelchair, observing the new garden that the hospital had put in place a few days ago. She normally wasn't the type to be outside. Her medical condition limited her in ways she didn't want to be reminded of. She was barely allowed to leave her hospital room. Never saw the need to. She was inured to this constant loneliness. But for some reason, ever since her grandmother visited her an hour ago, she couldn't stop thinking of what she said. "The nurses have been talking about it all day. There'll be a light rain shower this afternoon.” “Oh,” Aisha said unenthusiastically, picking at her eggs and toast, wondering what was so special about a minute of rain. Sure, the city they were in rarely saw rainfall, but what excitement would that bring her? She'd be stuck inside, anyway. “Do you remember what I said before about summer rain? The most unexpected things happen during it. I know it's not something you'd normally be interested in, but I think you might regret not going out to see it today." She wasn't interested at all. But she nodded slowly, fixing her crooked hijab, promising to go later that afternoon. And so she sat there in the garden, bored out of her mind, counting the petals on each flower she held. She waved goodbye to her favorite nurse, Fatuma, who accepted her offering of a white tulip, assuring her that she'd come to see her again tomorrow morning. Aisha shook her hand, said goodbye again, and turned her attention back to the garden. She was on her fifth flower (yellow daisies, her favorite) when she felt the presence of someone near her. She looked up to see a little Somali girl in a yellow hijab staring at her. Wearing a white dress with little dots and the most adorable flower crown on her head (obviously made by herself as it was almost close to unraveling), Aisha couldn't help but feel a wave of nostalgia hit her. It was like going back in time to her younger, carefree self. A time when she didn't have routine doctor visits. When she wasn't restricted to staying inside most of the day. At first, Aisha thought that she was the daughter of another patient, maybe a lost visitor. But seeing the hospital band on her wrist, she could tell without asking that this little girl also was like her; young and confined to the rules of this hospital. "Hello," Aisha said to the little girl, jumping back in surprise when the girl quickly walked up to her. The little girl clumsily placed the flower crown that she had on her head onto Aisha's. "My mom said that this flower crown is magical," the girl whispered, taking Aisha's hand and trying to get her out of her wheelchair. Aisha said softly to the little girl, “I can't get out of this wheelchair or I'll fall. But your flowers are magical, aren't they? Maybe they'll help me in the future.” The little girl's face, which at first was sad, turned joyful hearing those last words, and she took Aisha's hand again and rambled on about flowers with no breaks. She switched the conversation to comparing their hijabs, calling Aisha a 'princess' as her hijab was more flowy and pink. Though she was just a little girl, she was very expressive, imaginative, and whimsical. A strange feeling settled in Aisha's throat as she kept speaking to the little girl. Again she felt reminiscent of her childhood self who never let her illness affect her, no matter how bad the day was. As Aisha was busy fixing the flower crown, adding extra flowers to make it fuller, the phenomenon that her grandmother told her about in the morning arrived. Splat! The sun was still out, the clouds full and the sky a bright blue. The first drop of summer rain hit the ground near Aisha and the little girl. Dropping her flowers in excitement, the girl clapped her hands happily, shouting, “It's raining! It's raining!” Was there ever a person that looked happier than her today? In such a sad environment, not even knowing what brought the girl to this hospital, Aisha felt her cheeks getting wet. But the rain had stopped? The ground was already clearing up. So where was this water coming from? She touched her eyes and felt shocked that she had been crying. She didn't know why. She hadn't cried since her 13th birthday when she was told that she would be remaining in this hospital for an unknown amount of time. Maybe it was because this little girl gave her a short feeling of happiness and hope. Maybe it was because her grandmother was right? Had she not gone outside to see the quick afternoon rainfall, she'd never have met this little girl who, unlike herself, kept on despite the many obstacles that she likely was facing. Aisha knew for sure that this beautiful girl with the bright yellow hijab and flower crown was the true summer rain. A serendipitous appearance in her darkening, closed-up world. Sudden, short, and unexpected. But incredibly beautiful.

August. There are only a few days left until the announcement of the entrance exam results. A thousand different thoughts filled Lola's mind. This is the second time she is applying to the university. Because of this, her heart was restless, and her anxiety gave her no peace. The thought "I must have passed..." kept running through her mind. If a well-educated girl graduates from school, suitors will immediately line up at her door. Nafisa, by nature a difficult person like her sister, could not openly tell her parents about her wishes and plans. The suitors who came to ask for her hand were not turned away. Last week, a close friend of her father came to ask for her hand on behalf of his son. This time, Holmat's decision was firm: "Daughter, I liked the guests who came for dinner. If you are not accepted, if you fail again, you will be married..." After seeing the results of the exam, it was as if ice water had been poured over the girl's head. In the middle of autumn, the sound of the Bridal Chorus was heard from Nafisa's house...

While the girl was preparing a lesson in her room, suddenly there were shouts in the living room. Then her mother came to her, whose face was as pale as gauze, and she was exhausted. "Nilu, come out to the park with your brother," she said trembling. Nilufar quickly took the umbrella and went out, waking up his brother who was sleeping in the other room. For the first time, poor girl walked around the children's park carelessly and quietly. Because she did not want to be separated from her parents or her adopted brother.