After Kana had taken her morning medication and finished breakfast, she sat quietly by the window, her gaze lost in the gentle sway of the trees beyond the glass. Morning sunlight spilled into the hospital room, bathing her in a warm glow that matched the smile forming on her face. Her thoughts drifted back to the conversation she had with Rose the night before—a conversation that had stirred something bright and hopeful inside her.
The soft clink of metal barely registered in her mind as Jane, her nurse and closest confidant, tended to her IV drip. Kana was so deep in thought that she didn't even flinch when the needle slid into her hand.
Jane arched an eyebrow, observing the peaceful expression on Kana's face. With a mischievous smirk, she leaned in and gently poked Kana's forehead with her finger.
Jane: Earth to Kana, you back with us yet, dreamer?
Kana blinked, snapping out of her daze as she looked down at her arm. Her eyes widened in confusion.
Kana: Wait… you already put in the drip?
Jane gave a smug nod.
Jane: Mmhmm. And you didn't even notice. You were floating somewhere in the clouds.
Kana scoffed and crossed her arms. "No I wasn't."
Jane didn't even need to say a word. She just tilted her head and gave Kana a look—a classic, raised-eyebrow, unimpressed nurse look. The kind that said, "Seriously?"
Kana sighed, unable to hold back a small laugh as she threw her hands up in surrender.
Kana: Okay, okay. You win. I was in the clouds... I guess.
Jane's eyes narrowed playfully, and her lips curled into a sly grin and then she leaned forward as if about to spill some scandalous secret.
Jane: Let me guess, you had another late-night chat with your online boyfriend, didn't you?
Kana's face immediately flushed.
Kana: No! And for the last time, John is not my boyfriend.
Jane gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest as if wounded.
Jane: Oh? So it wasn't John this time? Another boyfriend, perhaps? Don't tell me you're two-timing them! Kana!
Kana groaned and quickly reached over to give Jane a light knock on the head. The bump that formed was cartoonishly exaggerated, as if it came straight from a slapstick anime.
Kana: Cut it out, Jane! I'm not that kind of person.
Jane winced, rubbing the bump with a pout and mumbled.
Jane: Alright, alright. I'll stop, (paused) But seriously, what happened last night that made you smile like that? Again?
Kana hesitated. She hadn't told anyone else about Rose—not even Jane. The conversation had only been shared with John so far. But now, looking at Jane's genuine interest, she felt the urge to share. She wanted someone else to know what had happened. To know how good it had felt to help someone, to be seen for her words, not her illness.
With a small nod, Kana began recounting everything—how Rose had reached out to her online, asking for help with her writing, how they'd connected over the concept of soul in storytelling, and how she had done her best to teach her in a way that felt real and honest. She shared every detail, every emotion, while Jane listened quietly, a soft smile growing on her face.
Jane: So that's what happened, huh?
Jane said at last, her voice filled with a mixture of surprise and admiration.
Kana nodded.
Kana: Yeah.
A long pause stretched between them, and then Jane's expression shifted into something mischievous. She grinned in a way that made Kana feel both suspicious and slightly nervous.
Kana: What? Why are you looking at me like that?
Jane: Oh, nothing, Just… you sure you didn't make that story up to cover for another secret admirer?
Kana groaned again.
Kana: Seriously?
Jane continued to tease Kana as her eyes twinkled like little stars
Jane: I mean, come on. It is kind of a sweet story. Would make for a good rom-com plot.
Kana rolled her eyes.
Kana: It's real, okay? You think I'd go through all that trouble just to make something up?
Jane laughed, holding up her hands in mock surrender.
Jane: Alright, alright. I believe you. Still, I'm really happy for you, Kana. Every time you connect with someone new, every time you try something outside your comfort zone, it's like watching a flower bloom. It makes me happy. Dr. Kennedy too. We've all noticed the change in you.
Something stirred in Kana's chest—warmth, comfort, something like pride. She smiled again, softer this time.
Kana: Thanks, Jane.
Jane tilted her head.
Jane: By the way, did you get her name? The girl you helped?
Kana shook her head.
Kana: Yeah, her name's Rose. But…I wasn't able to introduce myself to her. The time to do that never presented itself. I'll probably do that when we speak next time.
Jane nodded thoughtfully.
Jane: You should. I'm sure she wants to know more about you too.
Kana leaned back against her pillows, glancing around the room. Her gaze landed on her phone resting on the bedside table, then drifted toward the journal tucked under it. But her eyes eventually settled on the television across from her bed—the one she hadn't turned on in months.
Kana: Huh.
Jane followed her gaze.
Jane: What?
Kana smiled.
Kana: I think today… I'll watch some TV.
Jane raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised.
Jane: TV? That's new.
Kana nodded.
Kana: Yeah. Feels like a good day to do something… ordinary.
Jane gave her a proud nod before turning to tidy up the side table.
And as Kana reached for the remote, something about that moment—simple, calm, and full of small change—felt just right.
*******
It was a free period, and that meant the students were free to spend their time however they pleased. Some clustered in noisy groups, chatting and laughing over inside jokes. A few sprawled lazily across desks, lost in sleep or daydreams. Others tried to read despite the rising volume in the room, their eyes scanning the pages with quiet determination.
But for those who couldn't stand the chaos, there was one place that offered refuge—the library.
Not many students chose the library during free periods. The air conditioning made the room unusually cold, and the chill drove most away. Still, for a certain few, the biting cold was a small price to pay for the silence it offered. For them, the serenity of the library was far more welcoming than the disorder of the classroom.
Rose was one of those few.
She sat at her usual spot in the far corner of the library, a worn but sturdy wooden desk tucked beside a tall window that bathed the area in natural light. Her notebook lay open before her, pages already filled with scribbled thoughts and unfinished ideas. For weeks, this had been her creative space—a haven where she wrote short stories for the school paper. But today was different.
Today, she wasn't writing for anyone else. She wasn't chasing the thrill of publication or trying to impress her editors. She was writing for herself.
Last night's conversation with Kana had stirred something in her. Rose could still hear her voice—the thoughtful, almost gentle tone with which she'd asked a single, powerful question:
"What am I really feeling right now?"
That question echoed in her mind like a song stuck on repeat, pushing her to dig deeper, to peel back the layers of her usual writing and get to the heart of it.
Her pen danced across the page in a frantic rhythm, trying to keep pace with her thoughts. She was so absorbed that she didn't notice Amanda walk in. Her friend crossed the room quietly and sat down across from her without a word, watching Rose with curious eyes.
After a moment of silence, Amanda leaned back slightly and muttered under her breath,
Amanda: That's kinda rude though…
Rose didn't respond. She kept writing, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, eyes flicking back and forth as she connected sentences like puzzle pieces. Then, with a sharp exhale, she stopped. She stared at what she'd just written for a few seconds—expression unreadable—then tore the page from her notebook.
With a swift motion, she crumpled it into a tight ball and tossed it toward the nearby waste bin. The paper hit the edge, teetered, then dropped in cleanly.
Amanda blinked in surprise.
Amanda: Why did you do that?
Rose didn't even look up.
Rose: I wasn't satisfied with that idea, so I tossed it.
Amanda's gaze shifted between the bin and Rose's composed face.
Amanda: So quickly?
Rose finally looked up and met her friend's eyes. Her tone was soft, but confident.
Rose: Yeah. After everything I learned last night… I decided that my stories shouldn't just feel 'right' or 'good'—they need to feel like me. Like what I'm actually feeling. I want them to come from someplace real.
Amanda tilted her head slightly, studying her. There was a quiet strength in Rose's voice, something more grounded than before. A new fire. She smiled warmly.
Amanda: So last night's conversation went well?
Rose's lips curved into a smile. Her fingers gently adjusted her glasses as she nodded.
Rose: Yeah… yeah, it did.
Amanda leaned forward, resting her arms on the desk. There was pride in her voice now.
Amanda: I'm glad. You really seem different. In a good way, I mean.
Rose chuckled quietly, and Amanda grinned, straightening up with a dramatic stretch.
Amanda: Well, let me know if you need help. I mean, I don't know much about writing, but I can still do something. Coffee runs? Motivational speeches? Interpretive dance?
Rose laughed softly, shaking her head.
Rose: Yeah, sure. I'll let you know.
Their light moment was abruptly interrupted by the approach of the librarian, a tall woman with sharp eyes and an air of no-nonsense authority. Her voice, though calm, carried weight.
Librarian: Girls, keep it down. This is the library.
They both straightened in their seats and nodded sheepishly, murmuring apologies.
As the librarian walked away, the two exchanged amused glances before returning to their silence. Rose turned back to her notebook, her pen poised over the next blank page. This time, though, she didn't rush. She let her emotions settle. She listened—not to the room, but to herself.
And slowly, with a newfound sense of clarity, she began to write again.
*********
Meanwhile, in John's classroom, the atmosphere was anything but quiet. It was a free period, and the room buzzed with the lively chatter and laughter of students making the most of their break. Conversations overlapped, chairs scraped against the floor, and the occasional outburst of laughter echoed off the walls. The energy was infectious—well, for everyone except John.
In the midst of the chaos, John sat slumped over his desk, his face buried in his folded arms. His usually alert and sarcastic demeanor was nowhere to be found. He barely moved, not even reacting when someone accidentally knocked into his desk. It was as if the noise around him didn't exist—or maybe he simply didn't care.
Right next to him were two of his close friends, Ivan and Joseph, who leaned back in their chairs, eyeing him with concern. They exchanged puzzled glances, silently questioning what could possibly have happened to drag their friend into such a gloomy state so early in the day.
He looked… defeated.
Joseph: He hasn't said a word since he walked in.
Ivan: Yeah. Didn't even crack a joke when I told him I failed the math quiz. That's how I knew something was off.
They both stared at him for a moment longer, the usual energy between them replaced with silent concern.
John wasn't ignoring his friends on purpose. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk or didn't care—he simply couldn't. His mind was somewhere else, trapped in the events of the night before, replaying them like a film he couldn't stop watching.
The soft murmur of Rachel's voice, the awkward silences that stretched on forever, the kiss they'd shared that felt too heavy, too uncertain, too desperate on Rachel's part. But most of all, the look in Rachel's eyes—the sadness, the disappointment—that haunted him the most.