Turbulence | 𝙰 𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 ✔

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Rooney, the Roach was a cartoon that came a decade ago, around the time we were eight, about a cockroach that is desperate for human friends. For an insect, Rooney tries hard. And after a hundred episodes of epic gags, he is validated by the mammals. That roach is an icon.

I love Rooney.

Royu Snowdrop loves Rooney.

We share his earphones, watch the fifty-third episode on his phone, feel sad together for all those who think two-dimensional drawings aren't "real", and applaud Rooney for chasing the lizard villain away from the baby's crib.

I hit my head against the window again—just to make sure that it hurts. No, this is no dream.

When I turn around, Royu Snowdrop is fiddling with his fingers.

"C-Could you not tell anyone in school?" he doesn't look at me. "I don't want them to know I'm into this show."

I don't remind him that high school is done—that we're not going back. Instead, riding on the foamy sea wave that rises in my chest, I decide to breathe in the salty breeze. Royu Snowdrop doesn't think this is the end. I don't think that either.

Snapping my fingers, I assure him. "You can sleep well tonight."

When it hits me that he's just revealed a piece of information that he doesn't want the rest of our classmates getting their hands on, like a secret, I look down at my own hands—and they've never seemed so special before. It makes me feel generous. Makes me want to give him something in return.

I hold the book up. "This is a story written entirely in verse."

"Verse," he repeats the word, slowly, and as if struck by something, his eyes light up. "It's written like a poem?"

I feel compelled to pat him on the back. Say, well done. And, oh my God, this shaky plane has done something to me. One moment, I want to give my enemy a star-shaped sticker for getting it right, and the next, I'm wondering what the word enemy even means.

"Do you have a favourite verse?"

Because Royu Snowdrop is making me doubt it all—I might've gotten my concepts all wrong.

Absentmindedly, I flip over to page sixty-five. And begin reading:

"You told me, we should stop. I told you, please don't go. You yelled, this isn't going to end well. I smiled, only if we were to begin alone. You cried, I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm so scared. I laughed, tell me about it. You laughed. I cried. And we hugged. Did one of us know that it would be the last, Casper? Because it lasted the longest, that one."

The hug on page sixty-five—it gets me every damn time.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

And it takes a while, you know. For my ass to realise that I just read out what must be a tearjerker of a verse from the most intimate fictional relationship ever, to Royu Snowdrop—I slam the book shut. Haha. Haha-Haha-Haha-Ha-Ha-Ha.