It was the first day of spring.The kind of morning that poets romanticize —where petals drift down like blessings,and wraps around your skin like a gentle promise.But inside me?Winter.The kind of winter that doesn’t freeze your skin —but your voice, your joy, your very soul.I sat on the old white stone bench behind the library —my secret place.A place where no one looked,and I didn’t have to pretend.The cherry blossoms had started blooming above it,but I couldn’t lift my head to notice.My hands gripped my sleeves.Not from the cold.But from the ache of holding too much for too long.There’s ...Read More

2nd Day — Lost in Chalk Dust and MemorySecond day of spring.The sun was softer today.Not warm enough to old sadness,but kind enough to sit beside it.I was in class.Second row from the window.Maths — a subject that never made sense to me, just like most things in life.I tried to focus.The teacher’s voice sounded like distant thunder.Equations danced on the board,but all I could see were his words from yesterday…> “Even sadness can bloom.”And just like that, I was back on that bench behind the library.Back in that moment —when I wasn’t invisible anymore.I didn’t hear my name.Didn’t ...Read More