𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒, divergent

chapter three, ᴰᴱˢᵀᴵᴺʸ ᴬᵂᴬᴵᵀˢ

The bus stops in front of the Hub. It's a tall building where the Choosing Ceremony is held. It also serves as the central spot for our government. My parents work here, and from the number of times I've stopped by to meet with my parents while they were at work, I'm already reasonably familiar with the building.

A cluster of people all dressed in similar shades of grey surround us, piling off the vehicle. I glance at my sister and notice her efforts to seem calm and collected. Reaching for her hand, I clasp it tightly in my own, giving hers a gentle squeeze. She looks at me, and I smile warmly.

We wait patiently for the elevator, but as more families arrive, the area becomes crowded, making me squirm uneasily. My father, either because he notices my discomfort or because of his selfless nature (I believe it's the latter), gives up our spot in the packed area and makes us climb up the stairwell. I heave a sigh, feeling both relieved yet dreadful. Dawn does too; she looks like she'd rather do anything else than ascend twenty flights of stairs.

A few other Abnegation follow us, trailing behind like we're leading into a battlefield. Dawn's grip on my hand tightens as we near the twentieth floor. It's a death-grip that turns my hand a sickly white color. If anything, it seems as though she's more nervous about this ceremony than I am, and she's not even the one choosing.

At the top, my father holds the door open. The crowd presses forward, forcing us out of the stairwell and into a room that is arranged in concentric circles. I spot a few familiar faces from school among the edges. Dawn follows me as the other sixteen-year-olds organize ourselves in alphabetical order per our surnames.

Rows of chairs for our families fill the next circle, arranged in five sections—five factions. From what I'm told, each faction sends a few representatives alongside the families of those choosing. It makes the crowd look vast.

Each year, the ceremony is conducted by different factions. This year, it's Candor.

There's a final circle at the very center: it holds five metal bowls that are grand in size. I arch my feet, resting my body weight on my toes. I have to look past Dawn's shoulder to see what each bowl contains. Dawn notices and chuckles, stepping aside so I can get a more unobstructed view. I roll my eyes at her laughter.

Each bowl is comprised of a substance representing the factions: grey, perfectly-shaped stones for Abnegation; water for Erudite; earth for Amity; sizzling coals for Dauntless; and glass for Candor.

The room is still littered with messy chaos when I finish observing the bowls. My parents now stand before me, no longer by the door of the stairwell. My father's eyes are glossy as he brings me into a tight hug, his arms tightly wound around my shoulders, almost squeezing the air out of my lungs. His hold feels protective and caring; it makes me feel safe. My father kisses my forehead before reluctantly letting me go. He looks solemn.

My mother is next. She holds me delicately and tenderly like I'm still a fragile, little child. It remains this way for a long time, and I can feel myself slowly crumbling in her loving grasp, metaphorically, of course. Eventually, though, we break apart after my mother presses her lips against my cheek.

Then there's Dawn. Her grip on my hand hasn't loosened—if anything, it's tightened. This is also one of the few times I've seen her cry. She already has warm tears flowing down her face, leaving streaks of glistening paths down her round cheeks. Her lips are quivering, and her chin is wobbling as she holds back any noise.

I don't hesitate to bring her into my arms, burying my face into the crook of her neck. Some of her tears drop onto my hair and skin, and I feel my heartbreak just a little bit more. Do I really want to leave Dawn?