"Spit it out," she said. "How do you know it's about Sophia?" "Because everything is about Sophia with you lately." They say opposites attract, but Megan and Sophia are proof that sometimes, it's not difference that binds us, it's the quiet ache beneath the surface, the shared scars no one sees, the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, someone will finally understand. In a world that demands silence, Megan needs to hear the truth spoken aloud, the words that could unravel fear, ignite something fierce, and turn whispered longing into something real. An original work of fiction.

"So, who's Chaewon murdering today?" Kazuha asks, eyes flicking to the prefects' table where Kim Chaewon sits, posture perfect, expression unreadable. "Probably her own libido," Yunjin fires back. "I bet she's never even thought about sex. She's like celibacy, but make it Prada." Sakura chokes on her orange juice. "She's got to be into something. Maybe girls. Maybe she gets off on confiscating lip gloss." Eunchae's eyes go wide. "Do you think she's ever...you know..." She makes a vague, deeply unhelpful gesture under the table. "Touched herself? Eunchae, she probably does it with gloves on so she doesn't leave fingerprints," Yunjin deadpans. The table erupts. Sakura leans in. "Let's make it interesting. Five bucks says no one can get Chaewon to crack. Ten if you catch her checking you out, Yunjin." "Oh, please." Yunjin grins, flicking her hair. "She probably thinks boobs are a myth. But fine, I'll play." An original work.

Greybridge always smelled like rust and hot asphalt. Even in winter, the air clung to your lungs like burnt metal. I used to think the city was alive-like some half-dead animal curled around itself, too tired to die properly. That's the kind of place it was: not quite dead, but sure as hell not living either. I worked after school at Vinyl Cuts, a half-collapsed music store sandwiched between a liquor mart and a pawn shop with busted security cameras. It was mostly empty, except for old dudes looking for Hendrix reissues and street kids trying to sell mixtapes for sandwich money. I liked the quiet, the stacks of warped cassette tapes, the feedback squeal from the amp that never got fixed. It was the only place in Greybridge that didn't feel like it was watching me. That's where I first saw her-Minji. Walked in like she owned the ground and the air above it. Leather jacket, headphones around her neck, eyes that didn't flinch. She was looking for guitar strings. Didn't even ask where they were-just found them like she'd been born in the place. And I swear-when she plugged in that chipped-up Squier to test them out, the whole store went quiet. The kind of quiet that buzzes. That sound-raw, bending, too loud for the tiny room but still full of space. Like someone screaming through a dream. That's when I knew something was going to happen. Something stupid. Something loud. Something real. --- A discontinued original work. (CC) Atribb. NonCommercial , This license lets others remix, adapt, and build upon a work non-commercially with credit back to the original author.