"Some of us don't return from break —
we carry it with us
like a secret place."
Dear Diary,
The bell rang this morning
and it sounded like a scream.
Not because it was louder than usual —
but because I wasn't ready
for the world to start again.
I'd grown used to slow mornings,
sun-warmed notebooks,
and his voice like syrup in my ears.
Now it's fluorescent lights and packed lockers
and girls with eyeliner like armor.
Everyone looks… faster.
They talk in bold colours.
They laugh like they're trying to prove something.
They move like they already know how the year ends.
And me?
I stood in front of my locker for six minutes
because I forgot how to open it.
I saw my reflection in the metal —
the same girl,
but softer.
Too soft, maybe.
At lunch, I sat under the almond tree
behind the science block.
Alone.
But not lonely.
Not exactly.
I was watching ants carry crumbs
when a voice said,
"Still writing poems to the dirt?"
It was Josephine.
Same sarcasm,
same crooked grin.
I laughed,
but it felt… unfamiliar in my throat.
"Maybe the dirt's the only one that listens," I said.
She rolled her eyes,
but didn't walk away.
And that's something, isn't it?
Maybe this final year isn't about becoming louder,
or turning into someone shinier.
Maybe it's about finding the ones
who hear your silence
and sit with you there.
The bell rang again.
Still too loud.
But this time, I stood up without flinching.
Till tomorrow,
Wunor 🕊️📚🍂