Dear Diary | ✓

15.08.1997

Dear Diary,

I woke up today with a strange feeling in my chest, like something was clawing its way out. The house was empty, thank God. I didn't have to sneak around, didn't have to play the game of not making a sound. The quiet was still there, but it didn't feel as heavy as it usually does. I left before the sun was fully up, the early morning air cool against my skin, a sharp contrast to the stuffy silence inside.

At school, everything felt sharper, clearer, like I was seeing things for the first time. The faces, the whispers, the way everyone moved around me like I wasn't there. I found myself scanning the halls for Ava, but she wasn't there. I don't know why, but that made my chest tighten even more. It was stupid, really, feeling like I needed her to be there, but I couldn't help it.

In class, I ended up next to this girl I've seen a million times but never really noticed. She's one of those perfect, put-together types, the kind that has everything figured out, or at least pretends to. She was talking to her friend, giggling about something pointless, when she accidentally knocked her pencil off the desk. It rolled over to my feet, and for a second, I thought about just ignoring it. But something inside me snapped, and I found myself leaning down, picking it up, and holding it out to her. She looked at me like I was an alien, like she hadn't even noticed I existed until that moment. She mumbled a "thanks," but I could tell she didn't really mean it. Her friend whispered something, and they both snickered, like it was some big joke.

And then, without thinking, I snapped the pencil in half. Just like that. The sound of it breaking was louder than I expected, like a crack in the silence that had been suffocating me all morning. The whole class turned to look at me, including the teacher, who paused mid-sentence. The girl's eyes went wide, and her friend gasped, like I'd just committed some unforgivable sin. I didn't care. I just stared at them, feeling a strange satisfaction as I dropped the broken pieces on the desk.

I don't know why I did it. Maybe because it was the first thing that felt real today. Maybe because I was tired of being invisible, tired of pretending that nothing mattered. The teacher didn't say anything, just gave me this look, like I was a problem he didn't want to deal with. I don't remember much of the rest of the class, just that I kept my head down, feeling a weird mix of guilt and satisfaction.

At lunch, I found Ava by the gym, in our usual spot. She didn't ask where I'd been, didn't even seem to care. But when I told her about what happened with the pencil, she actually laughed—a short, sharp sound that almost felt like a reward. "Didn't think you had it in you," she said, and there was something almost like respect in her voice. I didn't know what to say to that, so I just shrugged.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, the incident with the pencil still playing in the back of my mind. When the final bell rang, Ava caught up with me as I was leaving. She didn't say much, just nodded for me to follow her. I didn't ask where we were going. I just followed, like I always do.

We ended up in this alley a few blocks from school, a narrow, grimy place between two old buildings. It smelled like garbage and something else, something burnt. The kind of place you avoid unless you're looking for trouble. Ava leaned against the wall, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her pocket. She lit one with this old, battered lighter, then held the pack out to me.

I hesitated. I've seen people smoke a million times, but I'd never done it myself. It always seemed like one of those things other people did—people like Ava, who didn't care about anything. But there was something in the way she looked at me, like she was daring me, testing me. So, I took one. The cigarette felt awkward between my fingers, too thin, too fragile.

Ava lit it for me, her eyes steady on mine as she did. I took a drag, and it was awful. Harsh, burning, like inhaling fire. I coughed, my throat raw, but Ava just laughed that same sharp laugh, the one that felt like it could cut through steel. "First time?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer. I nodded, trying not to choke on the smoke.

We stood there for a while, smoking in silence. The sky above us was darkening, the first stars just starting to peek through. The world around us felt distant, like it wasn't really there. I didn't like the cigarette, not really, but I liked the way it made me feel—numb, detached, like I could float away and not care about anything. Ava didn't say much, just smoked and stared up at the sky, her eyes unreadable.

After a while, she tossed her cigarette to the ground and crushed it under her boot. "Not bad," she said, almost like she was giving me a compliment. I dropped mine too, watching the ember die out on the dirty pavement. The air felt colder now, and I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold on to the numbness before it slipped away.

We didn't talk much after that. She walked me part of the way home again, but this time we took the long way, through streets that felt unfamiliar even though I knew them well. The smoke still clung to my clothes, to my hair, and I wondered if it would follow me inside, if it would give me away. I didn't care.

When we finally parted ways, Ava just nodded at me, like we had some kind of unspoken understanding. I watched her disappear into the shadows again, just like before, and for a moment, I felt that tightness in my chest again. But it wasn't the same as this morning. It was something else, something heavier.

Now I'm here, writing this, the taste of smoke still in my mouth. I don't know what's happening, why things feel different. Maybe it's Ava, or maybe it's me. Maybe it's both. All I know is that I don't feel invisible anymore, and that scares me more than anything else.

I don't know where this is going, but I think I'm going to follow it, wherever it leads.

Goodnight, Diary

Me