Kana typed furiously and quickly on her phone, her thumbs racing across the keyboard as she finalized the draft of her poem—the one she intended to submit for the national writing competition. After one week and four long, emotionally exhausting days of writing, revising, deleting, and rewriting, she had finally arrived at a version she could smile at. A version that felt right.
Her screen glowed softly in the dim room, and the tap-tap-tap of her typing filled the silence like a steady heartbeat. She made a few last-minute tweaks, corrected a misplaced comma, and restructured a line that had been bothering her since last night.
Finally, she paused. Took a breath. Scanned the entire piece once more. And then, with a slight nod to herself, she whispered:
Kana: Okay. That's it.
She exhaled, her shoulders dropping as if she'd been carrying something heavy. Without wasting time, she exited her notes app and opened Twibbler. She scrolled through her feed until she found the post she had saved earlier—the one with the link to the competition's submission portal. She tapped it, and the browser opened.
The page loaded slowly.
Her heart thumped.
Once it fully appeared, she filled in all the required details: her full name, Twibbler handle, date of birth, email. Then she attached the document containing her poem.
She hesitated over the "submit" button. Her finger hovered above it.
Kana closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, calming the nervous tide that had begun to rise in her chest. Then—she tapped it.
Submit.
It was done.
She leaned back, the motion slow and almost surreal. Then she exhaled hard, the air leaving her lungs like she had been holding it for weeks.
It had taken her two weeks to finish the poem. Two weeks to shape her thoughts, her emotions, her experiences into something that resembled beauty. Now, it was out there. Floating into the world.
Kana: Now... all I have to do is wait for the results to come out.
A quiet pride bloomed in her chest. Her lips curled into a soft smile.
With a lightness in her heart, Kana grabbed her phone again and opened Twibbler. Her fingers danced across the screen as she wrote a new post:
Lonelygirl4556: Just submitted my poem for the National Writing Comp! I'm so nervous, but honestly, I'm proud of what I wrote. Thank you to everyone who encouraged me these past two weeks. It means more than you know.
After that, she sent private messages to John, Rose, and Liam, attaching the poem and thanking them personally for their support and feedback.
She barely had time to exhale when a notification buzzed on her screen.
Kana blinked.
She tapped the alert and was redirected back to Twibbler.
It was a comment on her latest post.
But… it wasn't from one of the familiar usernames she was used to seeing. Not John. Not Rose. Not Liam.
It was from an account called @Saucy101.
Kana squinted at the screen. The username didn't ring a bell.
Then she read the comment.
@Saucy101:
Lol, good luck. Don't get your hopes up. These competitions don't care about your pity stories.
Her fingers paused mid-scroll.
Her breath hitched.
She blinked again, rereading the words as if they might change. As if she had misunderstood something. But no. They were exactly what she thought they were. Cold. Mocking. Unnecessary.
For a moment, she just stared.
Then, she gently placed her phone down beside her on the bed and sank back into her pillow. That warm, fresh feeling from before began to dissolve like sugar in water—sweet, but quickly gone.
Kana: (softly) Why would someone say that…?
This poem wasn't just a submission. It was her. Her voice. Her story. Her hurt, her longing, her small flicker of hope. Every line had cost her something.
She hadn't asked for sympathy. She hadn't begged for anyone's tears.
All she had wanted was to be heard.
Kana: Oh well… it's just trolls on the Internet.
She reached for her phone again, trying to brush it off.
But then her phone buzzed again.
Another notification.
And then another.
And another.
When she checked, her breath caught.
It wasn't just @Saucy101 anymore.
Now there were more. A swarm.
@NullVoidX:
Bet the judges toss it in the trash once they see her sob story intro. 🥱
@BurnerLad88:
Twibbler's full of weaklings these days. Go cry into your IV, drama queen.
@Saucy101:
Just another sad, attention-seeking sick girl thinking people owe her something. God, these cripple poets are everywhere.
@VoidSpitter:
Why do sick kids always act like being terminal gives them talent? Get over yourself.
@Savage_King69:
Nobody cares about your life story, wheelchair Shakespeare.
@iEatDreams:
She's just milking sympathy votes. Bet the judges only pity her cause she's gonna die anyway.
@TheRealTruthHurts:
This is why you people don't make it. Always begging for attention instead of earning respect.
@SlitLips:
Bet her poem's just some sad cancer-patient garbage. Boohoo, I'm sick—give me an award. LMAO.
Kana's fingers trembled.
She dropped the phone.
It landed softly on the blanket, the screen still lit, the hateful words still there.
She lay still.
Her heart pounded in her chest like a drum, but her body didn't move.
Her mind raced.
She told herself it was just the Internet. That it didn't mean anything.
But the words still echoed in her head. Ugly. Sharp. Cruel.
Then came the shame. Like she had done something wrong by even existing in that space.
Then, something else surged behind the shame.
Anger.
Why? Why would people say something like that?
All she had done was share her excitement. Her pride. Her growth.
That was enough to make her a target?
Kana clenched her jaw.
She sat up slowly, picked up her phone again, and stared at the screen—not with fear this time, but with a strange kind of quiet fury.
Kana: The Internet will always be the Internet, I guess…
She took a deep breath. Then she tapped each of the usernames one by one and blocked them. Every last one.
No argument. No response. Just silence.
Click.
Block.
Click.
Block.
Click.
Block.
By the end of it, her feed felt cleaner.
No more poison in her notifications.
Kana stared at her reflection faintly glowing in the black screen. Her eyes were tired, but strong. She knew better than to let random people on the Internet define her worth.
This poem had come from her soul.
And she wouldn't let them take that from her.
Not now.
Not ever.
******
Meanwhile, John sat quietly in his rowdy classroom, tuning out the noise around him as his fingers gently brushed the bracelet around his wrist—the one Kana had given him last December.
Not a single day had gone by without him wearing it. It had become part of his daily routine, a quiet ritual that reminded him of her warmth. Every time he looked at it, the image of Kana's smiling face would flash in his mind. That smile—soft, kind, and genuine—never failed to make his cheeks heat up.
And this time was no different.
As John stared at the bracelet, the familiar blush crept up his face. The corners of his mouth curled involuntarily, and before he knew it, he'd buried his head in his arms on the desk in an attempt to hide how flustered he looked.
But Ivan and Joseph noticed everything.
Ivan: So... when are you gonna introduce us to Mrs. Wellman?
John's head instantly shot up.
John: Huh?
Ivan: You heard me. Who is she?
John: (stubbornly looks away) You don't know what you're talking about.
Ivan raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.
Ivan: Oh really? I don't?
John stayed silent, unwilling to give them more ammunition.
But Ivan was already ready to drop the hammer.
Ivan: You've been wearing that bracelet ever since we came back from the Christmas holidays. Doesn't take a genius to figure out a girl gave that to you. And don't even get me started on the way you keep smiling at your phone like you're texting an angel. I know that look. That's the 'girl got me hooked' look.
John felt cornered. And like most people who feel cornered, he started blurting out nonsense without thinking.
John: It's not a girl!
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted it. Instantly. Deeply.
He glanced at Ivan and Joseph, whose expressions had twisted into horrified disbelief.
Joseph: It's not a girl?!
Ivan: So you're… going in that direction, huh?
John: Wait! No! That's not what I meant!!
Joseph: Then… who is it?
At that exact moment, Liam walked into the classroom. He caught John's gaze and waved at him in a friendly manner. John, caught off guard, instinctively nodded back.
Which only made things worse.
Joseph: No way…
John: Huh?
Ivan: No wonder you two have been acting all buddy-buddy lately…
John: What are you guys talking about? (suddenly realizes) WAIT—THAT'S NOT WHAT I—
Before John could finish, Ivan slung an arm around his shoulder.
Ivan: Don't worry, man. I got you. Love is love. Be with whoever you wanna be with. We support you.
John: That's not it, okay?!
Ivan: It's okay to get a little shy when you're thinking about your boyfriend. Especially when you're staring at the bracelet he gave you.
John's face contorted into a cartoonishly horrified expression.
John: That's not what I meant!!
Ivan: Huh? So you're not into guys?
John: Of course not! (pauses & sighs) It was a girl who gave this bracelet to me.
Joseph: A girl?
Ivan: Is it someone we know? Rachel, maybe?
John: No. It's someone else.
At that moment, Kana's face floated through his mind like a sunbeam through clouds.
Ivan: Ahhh… So that's why you turned Rachel down when she confessed.
John: Can we not talk about that?
Ivan: Right, sorry. My bad.
Joseph said nothing. His eyes silently drifted toward Rachel, who was chatting and laughing with her group of friends near her seat. Then he looked back at John and clenched his fists under the desk.
Ivan: So… this mystery girl. Is she like, your girlfriend?
John: Not exactly. I don't even know how she feels about me.
Ivan: C'mon, she gave you a bracelet. That's like... basically saying, "Think of me always."
John: It was a last-minute birthday gift. She didn't even plan it.
Ivan: Still counts.
John shrugged.
John: I guess you could see it that way.
Ivan: So why don't you make it official? Ask her out. You clearly like her a lot.
John fell silent.
He had thought about that more times than he could count—imagining Kana as his girlfriend, imagining what it would be like to hold her hand, take her on a real date, laugh with her in the sunlight. Every time he allowed himself to drift into that fantasy, it felt warm and hopeful.
But then reality would come crashing in. The IV lines. The hospital bed. The limitations that weighed on her life like invisible chains. And every time, he pulled himself back.
His face fell slightly as those thoughts returned again, uninvited and unkind.
John: It's not that simple, Ivan.
******
Liam walked home from school, his mind heavy with everything that had happened over the past few weeks. Lost in thought, he stopped halfway and made a decision—he would visit Emma.
After a long, quiet walk, he finally arrived at her house. Standing there for a moment, gathering his courage, he knocked softly on the door. Emma's mother opened it, her face gentle but tired.
Mrs. Walker: Liam, come in.
She quietly led him down the hall to Emma's room.
Inside, Emma lay still in her bed, pale and peaceful, connected to a monitor that emitted a steady, rhythmic beep.
Liam took a seat beside her, his eyes fixed on her motionless face.
Liam: Hey, Emma. It's me.
No response came except for the soft beeping of the machines.
Carefully, he reached out his hand, hesitating as if afraid to break the fragile silence.
Mrs. Walker: I'll give you a moment.
Liam nodded silently.
Alone with Emma, he leaned closer and whispered softly.
Liam: I'm here
The steady beep continued to fill the quiet room, a small reminder of life in the stillness.
******
Rose was walking home from school with her best friend, Amanda, their backpacks bouncing lightly with each step as they chatted about assignments, upcoming festivals, and the usual school drama.
The streets were busy with students heading home, some riding bikes, others in small groups talking and laughing. But Rose and Amanda were in their own little bubble, enjoying the cool breeze and each other's company.
Rose was in the middle of explaining her idea for the school festival decoration theme when Amanda's phone suddenly buzzed inside the pocket of her oversized hoodie.
Without hesitation, Amanda reached for it, pulling it out and tapping the screen quickly, her eyes lighting up.
Rose: What is it?
Amanda: Oh, nothing major. Just a group chat I'm in—it's for fans of the KTE Music Band. Someone just dropped a link to their latest Twibbler post.
Rose: KTE? I've heard the name tossed around a few times, but I've never really listened to them before. Are they really that good?
Amanda's eyes sparkled, and she nearly gasped at Rose's words.
Amanda: Are they really that good? Rose! Their last album practically broke the internet. It went so viral that it made news headlines in three different countries! They're currently charting in the top 10 most famous music artists of all time. Can you believe that?
She said it with so much excitement that her voice actually cracked a little. As she kept going on about the group, her passion poured out with such intensity that Rose couldn't help but giggle.
Amanda was salivating at this point—figuratively, thankfully—as she gushed about the band's lead singer, their choreographer, the way their lyrics "speak to her soul," and how their visuals "make her heart combust."
Rose: So you're like… a die-hard fan of KTE, huh?
Amanda: Absolutely. No shame in it. And you know what's even better? I'm not alone in this obsession. The group chat I joined is filled with people just like me—people who love KTE, know every lyric, every tour date, every piece of trivia. It's like a little online family. We talk, we share updates, theories, memes… it's honestly one of the best parts of my day.
Rose: Have you ever met any of them in real life?
Amanda: Not yet, but that hasn't even mattered. Just chatting with them, sharing that connection—it's so much fun. It's amazing how close you can feel to people you've never met when you all love the same thing.
As Amanda spoke, her tone full of enthusiasm and joy, something sparked inside Rose. A bright, clever idea began to bloom in her mind. She slowed her pace just a little, her eyes drifting ahead as her thoughts began to race.
Rose: A group chat, huh…?
She murmured the words under her breath, but Amanda heard them.
Amanda: Hm? What are you thinking?
Rose didn't answer right away. She was already mentally outlining the possibilities, her imagination taking off like a rocket. Something about Amanda's words stuck with her more than she expected—this idea of strangers bonding over something simple… something meaningful.
It gave her an idea.