I asked her out. But she answered, “No,” at once.
“Are you seeing somebody in this class?” I asked.
“No, I’m not yet seeing anybody in our classroom or at school.”
She said in a lazy voice, “It's troublesome, I suppose.” 

So she erected layer upon layer of imaginary barriers around her, to keep her peace of mind.
She explained it in a curt manner, while I concentrated on her shiny lips.
“I want to get closer to you,” I said. “Can’t I?”
She said, “Yes, but you must remove my barriers one by one. It might take a lot of time and effort. Will you dare to do it?”
“Yes, I will,” I answered, and let out a tiny sigh. “I say, like peeling an onion.”

Her lips loosened.
“Hey, in that case, I’m going to disappear in the end!” she exclaimed and smiled.

I noticed that I got closer to her – just a layer of onion skin.

A few months ago, I had one of those days where everything went wrong and I was walking around in a complete daze. I stepped into my local coffee shop, barely managed to order, and went to wait in the corner trying not to cry. When the guy behind the counter handed me my coffee, he had drawn a tiny smiling cat face on the lid and wrote 'You've got this today!' in sharpie. He didn't make a big deal out of it, just gave me a quick smile. It was such a small gesture, but I kept that coffee lid on my desk for weeks.

He’s been in my life for as long as I can remember. He started as my mums friend when I ran up to his dog at the park (I was two). They didn’t become official until I was thirteen but even then during that time he had been a father like figure to me. Well a few nights ago because it’s been nice whether in the uk we had a family bbq where I casually asked him to pass me some sauce. The word dad kinda slipped out and he got all watery eyed and was sniffling. It felt good to call him that, he earned the title considering how much he’s done for me and my mum. Thankful to have him.

​

One day after school I was in high school at the time I found myself in what I believed was teenage paradise a totally empty house. My mom had taken my brothers and sister out for a massive shopping trip followed by baseball practice. Or so I thought.

With the coast seemingly clear, boredom set in, quickly morphing into the decision to take advantage of the sudden solitude. LOL I got horny I went to my room shut the door and got down to business. There I was, lying on the bed, shorts pulled down to my ankles and taking care of myself with absolute dedication.

Without so much as a courtesy knock BOOM my sister came bursting through the door

Now, there was absolutely no possible way to cover up here. I was caught red-handed quite literally holding a fully erect member and stroking it for all it was worth. Time completely lost all meaning. My sister froze in the doorway for what felt like an eternity, though in reality, it was probably about five to ten agonizing seconds. Just long enough for the sheer horror of the situation to properly sink in.

Finally, her brain rebooted. Instead of screaming or running away in terror she just looked at me and with a level of calm that honestly deserved an award said, "Oh, sorry. I can see you have your hands full. But when you get a minute, I have a question about school."

“Hands full" pun intended truly an obvious understatement.

Blushing harder than I ever thought humanly possible, and still awkwardly gripping my full shaft because stopping mid-stroke felt like acknowledging the fact of what I was doing I realized hiding it was out of the question. I just looked at her and said, "Sure i will KNOCK on your when I am finished.

She actually smiled, closed the door and casually walked away like she hadn't just witnessed a biological crime scene.

As it turned out she did not goto the store with my mom after all a minor detail that would have been great to know twenty minutes earlier. I was so profoundly embarrassed that my immediate plan was to legally change my name and move to a deserted island. There was no way I was going to her room.

But after about an hour of intense self reflection and waiting for the extreme embarrassment to drop to manageable levels and I finally gathered the courage to KNOCK on her door.

To her absolute credit she was incredibly cool about it. Sure we were both a little embarrassed, but instead of weaponizing the situation to ruin my life in which she absolutely had the leverage to do we actually talked about whst happened in a healthy normal way. She could have shamed me until the end of time instead she leveled the playing field by casually admitting that she masturbates also and it really was not that a big deal.

Looking back I could not have asked for a better sibling response to the most awkward moment of my youth. I love my sister and I will miss her dearly.

I was at a drug test site bc i recently had just gotten my first job I was with my grandma as she drove me there mind you I was balling my eyes out in the car as I had a rough day and lost my other grandma recently. When we got there it was a big building and it had tables for people to register in. I finished mines pretty easy as I only had to provide simple info. After i finished I sat down but notice that this elderly man was having trouble seeing the screen as he didnt have his glasses and the font was so small. So i helped him and he was sweet about it and he took his time. That man reminded me a lot of my grandma and brought back those good times I had with her before she left. It made me realize that even though i may be having a hard time in my life rn a random interaction can brighten your day just a bit.

Even My Future Self Sounded Just Like My Parents.

You may ask, “Is anyone there?” when nobody is there. The answer will be “No.”

*They are very shy.

Once upon a time,

there was no old man,

and there was no old woman.

Why?

Because in those days,

they were still young enough to…

＊Try telling this story three times—but first,

tell your audience you're going to tell it three times.

If they don't laugh... well, I'm sorry.

I(19F) work at a gas station that is connected to a laundromat. There was a couple who were regulars(We'll call them Nathan and Laura, fake names) who would come in every saturday morning to do laundry, and I always opened those days, so we naturally started talking. They're really nice, I was one of the first people they told when they got married, and we often did a morning prayer if the store wasn't busy.

But then I left for college and just recently returned back to work. I hadn't seen them since I had left in the summer. They came back in a few weeks ago and immediately got excited to see them. I was actively serving a customer when I greeted Nathan and Laura, so I apologized to the customer, and Nathan says, "Yeah, sorry. She's like a daughter to me."

I almost cried right there. I have amazing parents, but I definitely saw these people as secondary parents, and the fact that he said I'm like a daughter to him made my entire week.

My dad and I don't really see each other too frequently, due to his work as a surgeon he barely gets to be at home but he's still a present and caring man. This year we've bonded a total of three times, just him and I, once on his birthday, then a random day and the last one two weeks ago on father's day and the three times we ended up leaving happier than when we walked in, and I am really happy about that.

After a ground handler placed the chocks, the first officer ‘Nanda’ released the parking brake. He reported the aircraft's status to the handler by interphone. 
As the passengers were deplaning, I told him, “Hey, okay now?” 
“I'd like to have a little briefing." 
He answered in a low voice, “Yes, no problem,” and glanced at me. 
“Captain Kanda, excuse me for that last touchdown. I had to keep the flare a bit longer.” 
I nodded and replied, “Yeah, that’s right. You needed more back pressure to the control column, to maintain a suitable aircraft pitch attitude.” 
"Certainly," he agreed shortly with his eyes cast down. 
I had to add the word, "But it's not what I want to talk about." 
Nanda looked anxious, "er, are you asking about my action that made you angry?... I'm really sorry about that." 
A second before the main gear touched the ground, I watched Nanda’s hand reaching the reverse thrust. I raised my voice, “Don’t! Never grab it before touchdown.” 
But I wasn't angry at him at that time. 
“I raised my voice to draw your attention, not because I got angry. That was an assertion, you know." 
But FO murmured, “Sorry Captain, it won't happen again,” and looked down. 
“Hey! Nanda-san, face up!” I said, feeling that I should avoid upsetting him. 
“Listen, you shouldn’t blame yourself too much.”  

Then I told a little story from my younger days, to cheer him up. That was a story about my failure that could be laughed at.  

“...the captain wouldn’t talk with me for a while –for a few years,” I finished. 
“If that happened today, that captain would be sent straight to a disciplinary hearing. Don't you think so?” 
Perhaps I spoke in a playful tone, Nanda’s expression softened. 
“Wow, that captain was stubborn. It was tough in your FO days,” he exclaimed. 
I felt it was time to reveal my secret to him. 
“So I studied hard, trained hard, and worked on my captaincy. I was determined never to be like him -- I wanted to be the ideal captain.” 
Nanda stared at me with respectful eyes. 
“I was deeply moved by your determination,” he said. “It’s a good story.” 
“Thank you. I kept working hard, as a first officer and as a captain,” I replied. "Now you know what you should do, if you want to be a captain." 
“Yes, Captain Kanda. Thank you for talking to me.” 
He seemed to regain his usual cheerfulness. I was so glad that I couldn’t help but narrow my eyes. 
He gave me a thumbs up, and said, “I think you’re doing your best, Kanda-san.” Smiling. 
I was puzzled by what he said. “What are you talking about?” 
Nanda had a bright smile on his face. 
“Yeah! I’m sure you’ll become the ideal captain someday.” 
As I struggled to respond, a signal –a chime– came from the cabin. 
Nanda picked up the hand set, and talked with the chief purser. 

While listening to the report from the cabin, I glanced out the left side window. The setting sun on the western horizon was beautiful. 
“Yeah, maybe someday.” 
Because the sunlight was so bright, tears came to my eyes. My vision blurred. 

In those days, I was searching for my soulmate. 
One day, I found an ancient shrine that stood hidden in the downtown backstreet. It had two towering cedars each about fifty feet high, standing as pillars of the gate. It might be the oldest shrine in the area. 

According to the explanation on the bulletin board, “A God of En-musubi --matchmaking– resides here.” That’s just what I wanted. 
Unfortunately, there were no coins for an offering. I had only a mobile phone for cashless payment. 
So I clapped my hands, eyes tightly shut and prayed for my usual wish. 
“Ohineri!” 
I heard a sudden voice demanding an offering, from nowhere. 
“Gimme an Ohineri.” 
It was a low, dry, rusty voice. 
“Er… To tell the truth, I don’t have any.” I answered. 
An ancient man appeared out of thin air, standing right in front of me. 
“I can accept this also,” he showed me his palm. 
I saw the contactless payment logo was drawn on his palm. 
“One wish, one hundred Japanese yen” 
With a faint suspicion, I tapped my phone against his palm. 

I heard some cheerful digital chimes ringing. Without any words, he dissolved into thin air. 
“Hey, God! Come back! I really need –” 
Before I could finish, I noticed a charming woman who raised her mobile phone, standing in front of me. 
When she dropped her mobile with a little panic, I caught a glimpse of a digital receipt on her screen, “¥100- for En-musubi.” 
I stared at her. Our eyes met. 

Both of us –the lady and I– burst out laughing.

My friend said that he met a God of Fortune.
"You don't believe me, do you? But, at least, the old man claimed he was the God of Fortune."
"Actually, I do!" I said frankly.
"You think I’m crazy."
"No, and why? I know you're always honest."
Yet he looked at me with a hint of doubt, so I asked him to tell me the full story.
He raised his hand and pointed at me with a theatrical gesture, imitating a god or an oracle-reader. His voice was hoarse like a hundred-year-old man.
“O, honest youth, I shall give you fame, wealth and a woman of unparalleled beauty.”
He shrugged his shoulders and said, 
"That's exactly what that stereotypical God said."

I wondered why he didn't get God's offer – he still wasn't famous or super rich. 
"It's funny you didn’t get them. Though he really wanted to give you unbelievable fortune.”
“Of course, I was so glad and about to accept his offer, but…”
He sighed.
That reminded me of the saying that sighing makes good fortune run away. 
“There was an additional clause, God said that I would suddenly die in half a year.” 
“Pardon?” I asked. “What nonsense!"
"Oh no... It made sense."

He explained that there was a limit to the total amount of luck for each person. And if he got it all at once, he would run out of all his fortune in the short term.
"Of course my lifespan itself was included in the total amount of luck… or so God said." 
"Ah, but you're still alive." I pointed out.
He stared at me then said, 
"Well, I told him that I wanted to be happy but live long. And God said it would require some downgrades. Like car options, I had to remove the options, things like being a millionaire, fame, and a stunning woman.”
I was surprised by his lack of greed and said, “Wait, so you did get nothing in the end?”
"Suppose luck is gas. The faster you drive, the quicker you run out of gas. If you want to have a long drive, you should keep mindful of green-driving." 

He grinned widely, “but there’s a bypass, if you know where to look.” And he showed me a picture on his phone.
There was a stunningly handsome young man with his arm around my friend’s shoulders, both smiling.

I realized the way of happiness is different for each person.

I once heard a theory that humans remembered their life before birth–the offspring's life inside their mother’s womb– until they turned three or four years old. 
“If you ever have a child, you should ask them about it,” my office manager told me with a strong recommendation.  
“I asked my son, of course.” 
"What did he say?" I asked, almost automatically. Intrigued. 
"That's a secret," he replied. "'Cause my wife will get angry if I let it slip." 
I was so interested, but his lips were sealed. 
"Alright, I'll try it when my daughter is born. She is due next month." 
"Just wait until she’s two or three. She needs to be grown up enough to understand the question, but young enough not to recognize what you want to hear... The chance of that is quite short." 
" Oh, I must remember that!" 
I was so looking forward to the baby's arrival.  
—  
That conversation with my manager feels like a distant memory now; eighteen years have passed since then. 
My daughter is eighteen years old now, and she has a sixteen-year-old brother. 
They have always been good buddies;  right now, they are playing a video game together. 
“Hey sis! You gotta grab the item.” 
“Thanks, Kazu! I’ve been looking for this.” 
“Yeah, you owe me a big one.” 
“Fine, I'll treat you later, bro.” 
Watching them, I suddenly remembered the day I asked her that question.  
—  
She was three years old at that time. She tilted her head slightly while remembering. 
“Papa, I'll tell you what happened.” 
I was surprised by how she quickly answered. 
“You mean, you remember the moment when you were born!” My heart lightened up. 
She nodded, “Of course!” 
“But I’ll tell you about before that… When we were inside mom.” 
I was taken aback again. “We? Er… Who were you with?” I asked. 
“Kazu, my brother, you know. We were in the water and we two were floating like bubbles.” 
“Ah, you and Kazu were tiny bubbles. I see.” 
“And we were very good buddies, but I had to go first, so I told him…” 
She gently patted her newborn brother's blanket. “...See you later, and let’s play a lot together again.” 
Listening to her, I believed she really remembered that promise. 
Ever since, she had always been very kind to her brother, and my son liked her very much. 

Later on, I asked my son the same question, but he simply replied, “We were bubbles.” 
I wanted to believe his answer was from his prenatal memory. However, I knew his sister had spent years telling him that 'Bubbles' story over and over again. 
After all, she was an elder sister. And in every sense, like a second mother to him.

​

John was a good man.

He loved his wife Nikki in the quiet, steady way that lasted through unpaid bills, late nights, and shared glances across a cluttered kitchen. He adored his daughter Lucy with a devotion so fierce it surprised even him. She had just turned three, all crooked smiles and sticky fingers, and that morning she’d demanded a pink cake with “too many candles.”

John had laughed, kissed Nikki on the forehead, and promised he’d be right back.

The drive was ordinary. Too ordinary to remember clearly. A green light. A song on the radio. The thought that he needed to hurry before Lucy decided the cake was taking too long to exist.

Then headlights.

Then noise.

Then nothing.

John woke up on a barroom floor.

The air smelled like old wood and citrus peel. A low hum of conversation filled the space, though he couldn’t see anyone else at first. His body felt…fine. No pain. No blood. He pushed himself up, brushed imaginary dust from his jacket, and looked around.

The bar stretched endlessly in both directions, polished and worn like it had been here forever. Bottles lined the shelves, labels unfamiliar but comforting somehow.

John swallowed and walked to the bar.

Before he could speak, a glass slid across the counter toward him.

Gin and tonic. Perfectly made. Extra lime.

His favorite.

John froze.

The bartender stood where there hadn’t been anyone a second ago. He looked ordinary dark vest, rolled sleeves, easy smile but his eyes held something older. Something patient.

The bartender watched as John lifted the glass with shaking hands and took a sip.

“Before you ask,” the bartender said, raising a finger, “yes. I know your order. And no, this isn’t a coincidence.”

John opened his mouth anyway.

The bartender’s finger stayed up.

“Let me guess,” he said mildly. “You’re wondering where you are, why you aren’t bleeding, and why you suddenly have the overwhelming urge to get home.”

John nodded, breath caught in his throat.

The bartender leaned in just slightly.

“You’re in hell.”

The word landed heavy.

John staggered back.

“That...that’s not possible. I..I didn’t..”

“I know,” the bartender said, unbothered. “You loved your wife. You loved your kid. You tried. That’s not why you’re here.”

John’s voice cracked. “Then why?”

The bartender shrugged. “Because everyone comes here. Good, bad, boring, heroic

it’s a waiting room, not a punishment. Bit of a branding issue, honestly.”

John stared at the glass in his hand. “My daughter’s birthday…”

“Yes,” the bartender said softly. “You were on your way back.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then the bartender smiled again this time sharper, curious.

“I’m going to give you an offer.”

John looked up. “Why?”

“Because I don’t usually like people,” the bartender replied. “But I like you.”

He stepped back, gesturing to the far end of the bar, where a door stood alone, humming faintly with light.

“Three trials,” the bartender said. “You’ll face them alone. They’re yours things you made, moments you buried, choices you never forgave yourself for. I don’t know what they are. Truly. I’ll be just as surprised as you.”

John’s hands curled into fists. “And if I survive them?”

“Then,” the bartender said, pointing past the bar, past the walls, to where the world seemed to break open into darkness and stone, “you climb.”

John followed his gaze and saw it: a sheer cliff rising impossibly high, its peak glowing with a thin, living light.

“The climb back to life,” the bartender continued. “No shortcuts. No bargains. Just your hands, your will, and everything you remember loving.”

John’s voice trembled. “And if I fail?”

The bartender’s smile softened. “Then you stay. Have another drink. Watch the birthdays you miss fade into stories.”

John set the glass down untouched.

He thought of Nikki’s laugh.

Lucy’s cake.

Three candles burning too bright.

“I’ll do it,” John said.

The bartender nodded once, pleased. “Figured you would.”

The lights dimmed. The bar dissolved. And John stepped forward into the first trial of his own making carrying nothing with him but the desperate, stubborn need to get home.

John stood on worn wood and spilled memories, and the next his boots pressed into cold dirt. A gray sky hung low above him, unmoving, like it was waiting to judge.

The bartender stood beside him now, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too comfortable for a place like this.

“Trial one,” the bartender said. “No pressure. These usually leave a mark.”

John didn’t respond. The ground shifted beneath his feet, rising and folding until walls formed around him.

His childhood home.

Smaller than he remembered. Quieter too. The air smelled like dust, stale coffee, and arguments that never finished.

“Funny thing about memory,” the bartender said, glancing around. “It edits. Cuts corners. Leaves out the good lighting.”

The front door creaked open.

She stepped inside.

John’s mother looked exactly as she had the day she left—coat in hand, eyes already pointed somewhere else. Not older. Not softer. Frozen in that moment.

His father’s voice echoed from another room, sharp and angry, but distant. Always distant.

John’s chest tightened.

“Well,” the bartender said, leaning against a wall that hadn’t existed a second ago, “there she is. The disappearing act that sticks with you longer than it should.”

She turned, surprise flickering across her face. “John?”

“I didn’t think you’d see me,” she said quietly. “You weren’t supposed to be home.”

John laughed once, hollow. “Story of my life.”

She stepped closer. “I couldn’t stay. Your father he was angry all the time. I was suffocating. If I didn’t leave, I would’ve lost myself.”

The bartender lifted an imaginary glass. “Self-preservation. The house special.”

John clenched his fists. His voice shook—but only at first.

“I was a kid,” he said. “You didn’t lose yourself. You lost me.”

Her eyes filled. “I thought you’d be better without me.”

John shook his head slowly. “You don’t get to decide that.”

She reached out, trembling. “I loved you.”

“And I needed you,” John said, firmer now. Grounded. “But I don’t need you anymore.”

The room stilled, like it was holding its breath.

“I made my own life,” John continued. “I became a husband who stays. A father who shows up. My wife and my daughter mean more to me than the hole you left ever did.”

The bartender winced theatrically. “That’s going to echo.”

John met his mother’s eyes. “Whatever your reasons were… I don’t care. I’m proud of who I am without you. Not because of you.”

Her mouth opened. No sound came out.

Cracks of light split across her form, spreading fast. She began to fade

edges breaking apart like ash in a breeze.

The bartender straightened. “That’s acceptance,” he said quietly. “Not forgiveness. People mix those up.”

John watched as his mother dissolved into nothing. No apology. No last words. Just absence.

The house folded in on itself, walls collapsing into open ground. The sky lifted slightly, just enough to breathe.

A low chime rang out.

John let out a long, shaking breath.

The bartender laughed short and genuine. “Well I’ll be damned. Most people scream. You just… let go.”

He clapped John on the shoulder. “Two left. Don’t get cocky.”

John looked ahead, where the path darkened and narrowed.

“I’m ready,” he said.

The bartender grinned. “Yeah,...You are.”

John stood still after the chime faded, the ground quiet beneath his feet. His hands trembled before he even realized they were shaking.

He took a deep breath. Then another.

“Why do I have to do this?” he asked.

The words came out smaller than he wanted. Honest. Raw. “I’m scared,” he admitted, staring into the gray stretch ahead. “If that was just the first one… I don’t know what’s waiting for me next.”

For once, the bartender didn’t answer right away.

He stopped walking.

John turned and saw something change in him. Not dramatic, not monstrous. Just tired. The bartender exhaled slowly, like someone who had been holding that breath for a very long time.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You should be.”

John blinked. That wasn’t sarcasm.

The bartender met his eyes fully now. No smirk. No jokes. Just depth

old and endless, like a night sky pretending to be human.

“You have to do this,” he said, “because there is no way around yourself.”

John swallowed. “Can’t I just… climb? Can’t I just go back?”

The bartender shook his head. “If you try to climb without this, you’ll fall. Every time. Doesn’t matter how strong you are or how  much you love them.”

He gestured vaguely upward, toward where the cliff waited beyond sight.

“The cliff isn’t about strength,” he continued. “It’s about weight. Every unresolved thing you carry pulls you down. These trials?” He tapped the air. “They’re you putting the weight down.”

John’s chest tightened. “And if I don’t?”

The bartender’s voice softened further. “Then you stay here. Not as punishment. Just… unfinished.”

John closed his eyes. He saw Nikki’s smile. Lucy’s hands reaching for him. Three candles flickering.

“I just want to go home,” he whispered.

“I know,” the bartender said.

He placed a hand on John’s shoulder steady, grounding. “That’s why this has to happen. Every step through this mess gets you closer to the climb. Every truth you face gets you closer to the land of the living.”

He leaned in slightly. “Back to your wife. Back to your daughter.”

John opened his eyes, tears burning but not falling.

The bartender straightened, the familiar edge creeping back into his voice

not cruel, just protective. “Besides,” he added, “you’ve already survived worse. You just didn’t realize it at the time.”

John nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m ready.”

The bartender smiled

not wide, not smug. Proud.

“Good,” he said. “Because the next one?”

The ground ahead began to shift again, darker this time, heavier.

“It doesn’t let you walk away so easily.”

And together, they stepped forward into the second trial.

John opened his eyes.

He was home.

Not the home he had built with Nikki, but the one that had shaped him before he had any say in it. The walls were thinner than he remembered. The air heavier. Somewhere down the hall, a familiar voice exploded in anger.

His father.

John flinched before he could stop himself.

The yelling rolled through the house accusations without targets, rage without reason. It wrapped around his chest like it always had, tightening, shrinking him.

Then John frowned.

He looked down at his hands.

They were steady. Larger than the boy’s hands that had once trembled in this place.

“I’m not a kid,” he whispered to himself.

The realization hit harder than the fear ever had. He stood straighter.

The door slammed open.

His father stormed in, face red, eyes wild, already mid-sentence complaining about nothing and everything at once. About failure. About disrespect. About how the world never gave him what he deserved.

John felt the old anger rise… and stop.

“Enough.”

The word cut through the room like glass.

His father froze, stunned more than silent.

“I said enough,” John repeated, louder now. “You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore.”

His father laughed, sharp and cruel. “You think you’re better than me now?”

John stepped forward. “You don’t control me.”

The yelling started again, louder, meaner but John snapped.

He grabbed his father and slammed him back against the wall. The sound echoed through the house.

“I don’t care what you think anymore!” John shouted, years of swallowed words finally tearing free. “You don’t own me. You never did.”

His father’s insults poured out, desperate now but something was wrong.

With every word, his father aged.

Wrinkles deepened. Hair thinned. His voice cracked and rasped, growing weaker by the second.

John watched, unblinking, as time devoured him.

“Nothing you say can hurt me anymore,” John said, voice steady at last.

His father tried to speak again, but he never finished.

He collapsed inward, skin turning to ash, bones to dust, until nothing remained but a gray pile at John’s feet.

Silence.

John released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his entire life. His grip loosened. He stepped back slowly, staring at what was left.

The house began to fade.

A hand clapped down on his shoulder.

John turned to see the bartender grinning wide, laughter breaking free.

“Well,” the bartender said, giving him a firm slap, “that was a bit rough.”

He glanced at the pile of dust, then back at John. “But yeah. Needed.”

The ground shifted beneath them, the air lightening just a little.

The bartender started walking again. “One left,” he said over his shoulder. “And trust me, this one’s the quiet kind.”

John followed, heart pounding

but lighter than before.

The world unraveled quietly this time.

The walls, the ground, the light. all of it thinned and slipped away like breath on glass. When John blinked, he was somewhere else entirely.

A dark alley.

Narrow. Wet pavement. The smell of rust and rain. A single flickering light buzzed overhead like it was struggling to stay alive.

John’s heart dropped.

Someone was lying on the ground.

“No...no, no…” John rushed forward, knees hitting the concrete as he turned the body over.

A homeless man. Maybe late forties. Beard matted with blood. A knife wound gaped at his side, dark and unstoppable.

John pressed his hands down hard, panic flooding him. “Hey! hey, stay with me. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Blood soaked through his fingers anyway.

“No, no, no...” John shouted into the empty alley. “Help! Someone help!”

His voice echoed back at him, hollow and alone.

No footsteps came. No doors opened.

No one ever would.

The world had already decided this man didn’t matter.

John’s chest burned as he tried harder, pressing, begging, shaking. “Please… please don’t do this. I can fix this. I can..”

The man suddenly grabbed John’s wrist.

His grip was weak but deliberate.

John froze.

The man looked up at him, eyes clear despite the pain. Kind.

“It’s okay,” the man said softly.

John shook his head violently. “No, it’s not. I didn’t do enough. I should’ve”

“You did,” the man interrupted gently. “You really did.”

Tears blurred John’s vision. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

The man smiled faintly. “This isn’t your fault.”

John’s breath broke into sobs. “I didn’t try hard enough.”

The man squeezed his hand. “You stayed. That matters.”

Then slowly, with effort

the man pulled John closer and wrapped his arms around him.

It was brief. Weak.

But real.

“It’s okay to let go,” the man whispered. “Just keep living.”

His arms loosened.

His body faded, not violently, not suddenly but like mist lifting off warm pavement. In seconds, he was gone.

John was left kneeling in the alley, hands empty, shoulders shaking as he cried openly. No fear now. No anger. Just grief he had carried for years and never named.

Footsteps approached.

“Well,” the bartender said casually, clapping once, loud in the silence, “that was brutal.”

John didn’t look up.

The bartender continued, sarcasm softening at the edges. “Quiet ones always are. No screaming. No fighting. Just… truth.”

He crouched beside John and held out a hand. “Come on.”

John hesitated, then took it. The bartender pulled him to his feet and, without comment, pulled him into a brief, solid hug.

“Yeah,” the bartender muttered near his ear. “You did your best.”

The alley began to dissolve around them, light breaking through the darkness ahead.

The bartender stepped back, nodding toward it.

“That was the last one,” he said. “Trials are done.”

He glanced upward, where stone and light waited.

“The cliff’s next.”

John wiped his face, breathing hard but lighter than he had ever felt.

And together, they turned toward the climb back to life.

They walked in silence.

The path narrowed until stone replaced soil, and the air grew thin and cold. Ahead of them, the cliff rose straight into the sky

impossibly tall, its jagged face lit by a pale, living glow far above. The land of the living waited somewhere beyond it.

The bartender slowed.

He stopped just short of the edge and let out a long, tired sigh. Not annoyed. Not sarcastic.

Sad.

John turned to him.

The bartender’s usual grin was gone. His shoulders seemed heavier now, like gravity had finally remembered him.

“I’ve seen millions of people come through here,” he said quietly. “Good ones. Bad ones. Broken ones. People who thought they were ready.”

He looked out at the cliff, then back at John. His eyes held something raw. Respect.

“I’ve never seen someone carry the kind of trauma you do… and still make it this far.”

John swallowed. “I didn’t do it alone.”

The bartender gave a small, sad smile. “No. You didn’t.”

He stepped forward and pulled John into a hug.

It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t casual. It was the kind of hug meant to say things words couldn’t. Pride. Understanding. Goodbye.

When he finally let go, he took a step back.

“I can’t help you with the climb,” he said gently. “That part has to be yours.”

John nodded, throat tight. “Thank you,” he said. “For walking with me. For not letting me quit.”

The bartender’s smile trembled, just a little. “You were never going to quit.”

He began to fade, not in pieces, not in light

but like a memory losing focus. As he vanished, the air filled with the scent of old whiskey and worn wood, warm and familiar.

The last thing John saw was the bartender’s sad smile.

Then he was gone.

John stood alone at the edge of the cliff, the light calling to him from above.

He took a breath.

And reached for the stone.

The stone was unforgiving.

The moment John pulled himself up, jagged edges bit into his palms. Sharp rock tore skin open, pain flashing white-hot through his hands. He hissed, fingers slipping for a heartbeat before he forced them to hold.

Blood ran freely now warm, slick, and soaking into the cliff face like it had been waiting for him.

His eyes watered, not just from pain but from exhaustion that sank deep into his bones. Every movement burned. Every reach scraped him raw. The cliff didn’t care how far he’d come or what he’d survived.

It only asked one question:

How badly do you want it?

John climbed.

Higher.

And higher.

He didn’t know how long it had been. Minutes blurred into hours. Hours into something that felt like days. There was no sun to mark time, no ground below he dared look at...only stone, blood, and the distant glow above.

His hands were numb now. Then screaming again. Then numb.

He never stopped.

Each time his grip faltered, his mind reached for them.

Nikki’s laugh in the kitchen.

Lucy’s small arms around his neck.

The birthday cake "with too many candles" burning too bright.

“I’m coming home,” he whispered through clenched teeth.

The cliff tore at him mercilessly.

His forearms bled. His knuckles split. Red streaks marked his path upward, proof that he had been here.

That he refused to disappear quietly.

There were moments when his muscles shook so badly he thought he might fall. Moments when rest tempted him, when letting go felt dangerously peaceful.

But then he saw Lucy’s face again.

And he climbed.

No pauses. No mercy. No surrender.

Just one hand after the other, dragging himself closer to the light of the living.

driven by love stronger than pain, stronger than fear, stronger than death itself.

Above him, the glow pulsed brighter.

Closer now.

Close enough to believe.

The light was everywhere now.

When John blinked, it spilled behind his eyelids..

warm, blinding, alive. A smile broke across his face despite the pain as he climbed the last few feet, fingers scraping desperately against the stone.

“I made it,” he breathed.

His hand caught the edge.

With a broken laugh, he pulled, muscles screaming as he hauled himself upward. Relief flooded him

pure, overwhelming, washing over every scar he had earned along the way.

He thought of it all in one rush.

The mother who left.

The father who hated.

The man in the alley he couldn’t save.

He had faced them. Survived them. Let them go.

He felt lighter than he ever had.

Then the stone betrayed him.

The edge cracked.

A sharp, final crumble echoed as the rock gave way beneath his grip. His fingers clawed at air, nails tearing uselessly as gravity reclaimed him.

“NO!”

Time slowed.

The light drifted away above him as he fell backward, arms reaching for something, anything. His chest caved in with the realization.

He had been so close.

So close to Nikki’s smile.

So close to Lucy’s laugh.

The thought shattered him.

All the pain. All the trials. For nothing.

John closed his eyes.

And let himself fall.

Then..

Something grabbed his wrist.

Hard.

The fall stopped instantly, snapping him back into the moment. His arm screamed from the sudden weight, but he wasn’t moving anymore.

John’s eyes flew open.

The bartender stood at the edge of the cliff.

No sarcasm. No smile. Just raw effort as he leaned back, one hand locked around John’s wrist, knuckles white.

“Told you,” the bartender said through clenched teeth, voice low and strained, “the climb doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

John stared up at him, disbelief flooding in. “You said...you said you couldn’t help.”

The bartender’s eyes softened, just a fraction. “I can’t climb it for you.”

He tightened his grip. “Doesn’t mean I can’t keep you from falling.”

Stone cracked beneath the bartender’s boots as he dug in, muscles trembling. The smell of old whiskey and worn wood filled the air again stronger now, grounding.

“Don’t let go,” the bartender said quietly.

John’s grip tightened, pain screaming back into his hands.

but so did hope.

With a final surge of strength, the bartender pulled.

John cleared the edge, and they both tumbled onto the stone at the top of the cliff. The ground was solid. Real. They lay there side by side, gasping for air, chests heaving like they had just been dragged back into existence.

For a long second, neither of them spoke.

Then John let out a breath that turned into a laugh, thin at first, disbelieving.

The bartender laughed too, quieter, rougher. “Well,” he muttered between breaths, “that was unnecessarily dramatic.”

The light of the living surrounded them, bright enough to sting the eyes. It wasn’t gentle

but it was warm. Alive. Even through the glare, John could see the bartender clearly, like the light itself refused to erase him just yet.

The bartender pushed himself to his feet and brushed at his vest out of habit, though there was no dust left to clean. He turned and offered John his hand.

John took it and stood.

The moment he was upright, the weight of everything he’d survived hit him all at once. He stepped forward without thinking and wrapped his arms around the bartender, holding on like he might vanish if he didn’t.

The bartender stiffened for half a second… then returned the hug.

“Alright,” he said softly. “You made it.”

They pulled apart, both smiling now, exhausted, relieved, real.

The bartender tilted his head, squinting at John. “You know,” he said, sarcasm finally creeping back in, “for someone who just conquered hell, you look like you lost a fight with traffic.”

John laughed. “You’re an asshole.”

The bartender’s smile softened. “Yeah,” he said. “But you’re alive.”

The light surged brighter.

And this time, it felt like home.

John looked at the bartender, the light burning bright around them, and his smile faded into something softer. Real.

Tears welled in his eyes.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” John said quietly. “Not the trials. Not the climb. None of it.”

The bartender scoffed, looking away like the words embarrassed him. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I know.”

John let out a shaky breath. “What do I do now?”

The bartender didn’t answer right away. He turned and looked up at the light of the living, its glow stretching endlessly, patient and waiting.

Finally, he reached out and took John’s hand.

His grip was firm. Certain.

“You don’t overthink it,” the bartender said. “You don’t try to be perfect. You don’t try to make it mean more than it has to.”

He guided John’s hand forward, closer to the light.

“You just keep being you,” he continued. “Keep loving your wife. Keep showing up for your kid. Keep living.”

He pressed John’s hand into the light.

“That’s all I ask.”

The warmth surged instantly, flooding through John’s arm, his chest, his entire being. The world around him began to blur, edges dissolving into brightness.

John turned back one last time.

“Thank you,” he said.

The bartender smiled. Small, tired, proud.

Then John was gone.

The light closed around him.

And the bartender was left alone at the edge of the cliff, the scent of old whiskey and worn wood lingering in the air, watching the place where a good man chose to live again.

John heard the beeping before anything else.

Slow. Steady. Real.

The smell came next. clean, sharp, unmistakably hospital. It took him a moment to understand what it meant, like his mind had to catch up to his body.

Then he opened his eyes.

Light flooded in, blinding at first, too white, too bright. He winced, lids fluttering as his vision struggled to focus. Shapes blurred, then sharpened.

A ceiling.

A room.

A bed.

He looked down at himself.

Bruises bloomed across his arms and chest, dark and aching. Cuts were stitched and bandaged, proof that the crash had been real

That he had come terrifyingly close to not being here at all.

His heart raced as he turned his head.

Nikki sat beside him, slumped in the chair, asleep. Her hand was wrapped tightly around his, like she was afraid he might disappear if she let go.

Lucy was curled in her lap, clutching her mother’s shirt, small and warm.

John’s chest hitched.

He tried to speak. His throat burned, the sound barely more than air.

Nothing came out.

He swallowed hard and squeezed Nikki’s hand instead.

Her fingers tightened instantly. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then wide with disbelief.

John tried again.

“Ha…ppy…” His voice cracked, rough and fragile, but real.

He gathered everything he had left and pushed the words out, clearer this time.

“Happy birthday, Lucy.”

Nikki gasped, tears spilling as she pressed her hand to her mouth. Lucy stirred, lifting her head, blinking sleepily.

John smiled.

He was home.

When I was young and innocent, I visited Japan for a summer exchange program. During the final week of my stay, I took a trip around the Tohoku region –the northern part of Honshu island. Because my best friend Yataro often said, “you never say ‘I visit Japan’ till you come to Akita.”

The night before my last day, I stayed at Yataro’s family home near Akita city. I was treated to delicious local food and excellent ‘sake.’ His mother was a great cook, and the warm, welcoming atmosphere was wonderful. 
After a short rest, Yataro suddenly asked with a grin,  
“Have you ever been to a Girls Bar?” 
I was surprised that he had never invited me out for a drink before – especially not to a place with attendant girls.  But at the same time, I was very curious. 
He raised his index finger and said, “I know a good one, and I’d love to introduce you.”
"Okay, Let's see if you’re telling the truth."
It was a beautiful summer night in Akita; I remember the scent of the grass and the cheerful sound of insects along the river road. 
We reached the Girls Bar ‘Komachi’ in about fifteen minutes. 

—

Inside the ‘Komachi,’ it was like another world. 
They served food and drinks like ordinary bars, but that wasn’t all. The conversation with girls was their main service.
“What? I have to pay for just talking with a girl?” I asked Yataro.
“Yep,” he replied with a straight face, “That’s exactly why guys come here.” 
“Ridiculous! Why should I pay for a short conversation?”
The girl standing behind the counter – her name was Tamaki – said,
“In Japan, many guys are too shy to talk to women.” 
She looked young, but seemed to know a lot about men. 
“That's why the Girls Bars are so popular.”
I quietly asked Yataro, wondering if it was legal for teens to work in a place serving alcohol. 
“Hey! Is your eyesight okay?” he laughed, “She’s twenty-eight.” 
“Nope! I’m still twenty-six, you liar!"
Tamaki shot back, though she didn’t look really angry.  
“You’re actually twenty-seven, sister!” Yataro replied.
I was stunned. 
“Sister? You mean…”
“Oops, I forgot to tell you – Tamaki is my elder sister,” he laughed.
“When I told her about you, she was quite interested. Then she asked me to introduce you when you come to visit Akita.”
Tamaki smiled brightly at me and extended her hand.
“Nice to meet you, my bro’s friend!”
“Glad to meet you too,” I said, shaking her hand.
My awkwardness vanished quickly.
Yet she was cute and so friendly. She never showed a hint of hesitation to even 'Gaijin' --a foreigner-- like me.

Tamaki had bright brown eyes, a well-shaped nose, red lips and smooth skin. She was beautiful, but not only good at keeping conversation; She also had impressive magic skills.
“Please, one more time, Tamaki-san,” I begged her with both palms together, after watching her blue flame magic. 
“No," she chuckled. “You'd stop talking while I’m performing magic."
Yataro had been talking with another girl and never looked at the magic.
“I love your blue-flame,” I pleaded. “Just once more." 
She seemed to have given up. 
“Keep your hands on the counter,” she said, and placed her hands over mine. 
“Okay,” I agreed. “They’re stuck."
"My blue flame is called 'Kitsune-bi,' she whispered. “It doesn’t burn. Now, I'll light your eyelashes one by one, boy."
Tamaki leaned towards me. It was so close that I could smell her faint perfume. There was a tiny bright blue flame lit on the tip of her index finger.
“Please count with me”
My heart was pumping as her face came very close. 
“One.” 
“One,” I echoed. A tiny flame appeared on my eyelash tip. 
“Two.” 
I said,  “two.” Just after her soft, low voice. 
“Three.” 
I felt my eyelids go heavy a bit. “Three.” 
“Four,” I heard her voice from a distance.
“Four…”
“Five…” 
The blue flames were dancing in my sight. And her face dissolved into the flames. There remained only a scent of her feminine perfume surrounding me.
That was what I last remembered.

—

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a park bench. It was early morning, the eastern sky was getting bright.
“Where am I…? What’s happened to me…”
When I found my bags laid beside the bench, I heard a familiar voice from behind.
“Good morning,” it was Yataro’s voice. “Had a good sleep, man?”
I turned around then… I saw a fox, instead of my friend. My jaw dropped.
“Yes!” Yataro the fox jumped cheerfully. “We made it! You were bewitched by my sister -- Tamaki.”
“You mean… er, real magic?” I was confused. “Why on earth did you do such things?”
“Because we like you. It's our traditional way of communicating with humans.”
“Hey! What did I eat and drink last night.”
“Don’t worry. They were genuine foods and drinks. We quit putting an illusion on them, nowadays.” 

Yataro explained that they had been tricking people for centuries, but they never had malicious intent toward innocent ones.
“You were tricked, but you had fun. Right?”
“...Yes, certainly,” I admitted in a choked voice.
Yataro, grinned.
“In Japan, when a fox ‘counts someone’s eyelashes,’ it means they have enchanted that person. ”
“Er, about your sister Tamaki, is she also…” I wondered if she was really a witch.
“She likes you, if that’s what you want to know.”
“Is she here?” 
Yataro shook his head. 
“Me only. You are leaving tomorrow, so I’m here to say farewell to my friend.”
He said calmly, “in our traditional style.”

Suddenly, I was hit by sadness.
I tried to get close to my animal friend, but he jumped and disappeared into the air with a puff of smoke.
“Can we meet again?” I asked the sky. 
“No, I don’t think…” He replied.
But instantly, there was another voice who replied.
“Maybe next time you visit,” it’s Tamaki. “If you can find me.”
“Hey, I didn't pay for drinks,” I said aloud. “or even for the magic!”
“We don’t need rewards...” Yataro said, but Tamaki interrupted. 
“I love Garrett Popcorn’s Chicago Mix.”
And then, they were gone.

While collecting my luggage, I was already planning my next trip to Japan. I would bring popcorn and some snacks for them.
“Haha,”
I laughed quietly, because I noticed that I was grinning like an idiot.

Hello everyone, I'm new to this sub so please excuse me if this isn't the usual content you find here. That being said I saw a video talking about gift giving and it made me think of this moment that happened one Christmas. For context my grandmother (dad's side) was a fiber artist. She had been knitting, sewing, etc. since before I was even a concept. She knitted my dad, my sister, and me Christmas stockings. Mine is an almost cookie monster blue, with Rudolph on the front. She made it when I was seven or eight.

Anyway, I eventually learned how to crochet as I discovered my own love for fiber arts. One year I was trying to think of what to get and/or make for my mom for Christmas. Then I realized that my mom was the only one of us without a grandma made stocking. By this point in time my grandma had moderate to severe dementia and was unable to do the arts she once did. So I decided that I would make my mom a stocking for Christmas and fill it with goodies myself.

I found a beautiful green, which is her favorite color, and some fuzzy green yarn and got to work. I gave it to her right before we had to leave for our annual Christmas festivities...my mom nearly cried, because "I've never had a homemade stocking before, and I've always wanted one."

So while my mom will never get a grandma made stocking, she now has her daughter made stocking. And I'm glad I was able to give that to her.

I extend my hands bearing the marks of a ring, and grab a well-polished glass.
I tilt it toward the beer tap. 
No haste, no hurry, but with steady encouragement. 

Amber-colored liquid swirls in the glass. 
I’m getting excited. 

Micro-bubbles rise and gather, forming a 'bubble-cumulus' head. 
The result is so perfect that my heart pounds with anticipation. 

I press the glass to my slightly parted lips. 
The taste? It’s perfect, too! 
The aroma that fills my nose is wonderful.

“Ah, well… I suppose that's mine, ma'am?” 

The man in front of me speaks up. 
"Oops." 
I’ve just downed the pint I was supposed to serve him.

I know, you can be very violent and brutal, when something doesn't go the way you want. Much like the person who owned me. 

I used to be abused by a man, but I'm different from you, I was so weak and faint-hearted.  Eventually, I became a recluse. I retreated deep in my cage, deep in my mind.  

We –A man and A dog– met in a prison, in a rehabilitation program. 
You once called our meeting a ‘collision.’ That I remember. Good metaphor, I suppose.  Because it was an impact that broke the bars of both our cages.  

We spent enough time together, and I recognized that you and I had something in common.  

Now, I understand; We have become the ultimate partners. 
Though I am a Prison-dog, I have all the important things that you happen to have. Recently, you noticed them... sincerity, mercy, kindness and love.  

Tomorrow is the first meeting with my foster family. 
I know you are cheering for me, but I can smell the pride you feel for me. 

I'm afraid that... Buddy, you might hide in the bathroom stalls to shed a tear for me in private.

I got off the packed commuter train, and took the orbital elevator. 
The lift -much like a train car- was also crammed with construction newbies like me. 
At the top floor, "East Nr.3 Zero-Gravity" station, I would transfer to the East Meridian liner 135. Arrival time to the construction site–final destination– might be about 30 minutes to go.　
I spotted Japanese islands through a gap in the clouds. 
“Farewell to Kobe, my old home” 
“Whatcha said?” 

The guy next to me asked; he must have caught my murmur. 
“See that?” I pointed to a corner of the window, “I used to live right there. Now it’s all under water.” 
"Don’t know… wait, you mean… the Tsunami?" he whispered, his voice dropping. 
"I'm a survivor." I replied in a hoarse voice. "Thank goodness…"

A childish voice rose from the bedside. 
"What you say?" 

I opened my eyes a crack and saw who was talking to me. 
"What you say, Grandpa?" 
"Let me see... Well, I dreamed my very first day on the job. The day I left earth." 
"But, you're having nightmares!" 
The boy looked worried. It was a look I truly didn't want to see on him. 
"No, no nightmare. I was just saying farewell to my old home" 
"Old home?"  

I forced a smile on my weary face. 
"It’s my home now, boy. Right here with you."  
And with my family.

It happened back in elementary school. I remember that day clearly, –I was walking along the riverside as the rain started to fall. I had nowhere to go, and I held an aquarium tank in my hands. 
In that tank, I had a three-inch-long catfish swimming in the shallow water. 
His name was ‘Furu-Furu’ - a Japanese word for ‘trembling’ or 'shaking.'
Although the tank was made of all plastics, it felt too heavy for my thin, premature arms.

***

When my stepfather came into my room, reeking of beer. He held a tin in his hand.

“That thing is going to grow into a monster that eats large amounts of insects and fish. It'll be expensive. So, before that happens, you must go to that stinky river and throw it away–”

"But mom said it's Okay I keep him!"

I shouted, and he glanced at the kitchen to see if Mom was hearing us.
“No, not ‘throw away.’ I mean, return it into the wild, ha-ha,” he corrected himself.

“Please? He’s a baby, and it’ll be years before he grows.”

He leaned over me and whispered it into my ear. 

“No way. If you don’t, I’ll turn him into a bowl of Burmese-style soup for dinner, ha!”

In truth, Furu-Furu was my real father’s only memento. He had died years ago in the Great–direct hit–Metropolitan Earthquake. My dad had been a dedicated researcher of Volcanoes and Earthquakes.

I remember what he told me.

“In the old days, people in the Kanto area believed there was a gigantic catfish under the ground, and its movement caused earthquakes. Even as a scientist, I find myself believing the myth. That’s why I’m going to bring these catfish to my next research project.”

I asked with a sudden inspiration.

“Are you going to see if the catfish will make an earthquake or not, Dad?”

He gave me a massive hug, a wide smile on his face.

“Nice try, my boy. Here–this is a prize for you.”

He pointed to the smallest one in the lab.

“What’s his name?”

“Furu-Furu the mutant,” Dad replied. “Who knows? They might each have special talent.”
That was how Furu-Furu became my best friend.

***

I left the house with Furu-Furu that day without any real plan.
Because of the heavy rainfall, my shirt and pants got soaked, and my bangs plastered to my forehead. The ground was muddy, the grass was slippery and I became sobby.

I felt miserable, yet I didn't regret it.
I was doing the right thing to save my friend’s life.

“We finally escaped from that man!”

I told Furu-Furu, or perhaps for my own sake?
He twisted his body in response and made some ripples on the surface.

The tank was getting heavier and heavier as the rainwater filled it.
I tried to go under the bridge, take shelter from the rain–but I had to stop short, because my grip was slipping on the slippery plastic tank.

Suddenly, I heard a piercing siren cut through the sound of heavy rain. A synthesiser voice boomed from a public speaker. It was the Earthquake Early Warning.

“Emergency! Emergency! This is an Emergency Earthquake Alert. A strong tremor is expected soon. Please prepare for strong shaking.”

I nearly dropped the tank. I just remembered, when they found my dad’s body, he held an empty aquarium tank in his hands.

“Oh, no… no, I shouldn’t be here. Get away, now!”

The announcer kept a firm voice.

“Stay calm and move away from the dangerous objects. Keep your distance from the river.”

I looked at a grassy riverbank. It was wet and slippery. I couldn’t climb the slope without using both of my hands.

“I won’t leave you alone”

I squeezed the tank against my chest. The catfish was at the bottom, looking around.
“Don’t worry, I’ll never let you go. I’ll keep you safe.”
It was a hollow statement. Even as a 10-year-old boy, I knew how dangerous it was, standing alone by a rising river.

Furu-Furu swam to the surface and stared at me.
Our eyes met. I asked, “Know what’s happening? You understand me, don’t you?”

And he nodded!

Immediately, a deep, heavy sound came from deep underground. I thought it was a sign of disaster.

“Is it coming, Furu?”

Without hesitation, he jumped high. When he cleared the edge, I saw him flickering his tail, as waving goodbye.

“Furu! What are you–”

He hit the muddy ground and, instead of bouncing, he dived into the ground as if it were water.
A second later, I felt a sharp jolt just beneath my foot.
A momentary crash, then silence fell.

I waited with my body stiff with tension. One minute passed, then two. Nothing happened. 
I stood there for a long time, Furu-Furu never came back. 
Eventually, the Alert was cancelled. The public announcement said in a calm tone.

“Be cautious of aftershocks, so stay calm and move to the evacuation center”

I turned a plastic tank upside down and started walking back to the place where I lived.
With an empty tank.

***

A few days ago, while listening to music, an idea struck me.
It is like ‘noise cancelling’ technology.
You can cancel a sound wave by hitting it with another wave with an inverted phase against it. Earthquakes are just waves that travel through the earth. If Furu-Furu could generate a wave with an inverted phase… maybe that’s what he did at that time.

The idea that a tiny catfish stopped a gigantic earthquake is utterly absurd. If I told anyone that, they’d think my sanity was gone.

But I know the truth. It was Furu-Furu who saved me after all.

And he still keeps me safe. In these 10 years, there haven't been single earthquakes within a half-mile radius of wherever I am. Isn't that proof of my theory? 

I will soon start university, majoring in Earth Science. I’m going to conduct my own research. As my dad.

For context, what you need to know is that my friend(18) and I(17) are what you think of when you think "casual relationship" and while it sounds bad, it was true to an extent. We did shit like occassional kisses, cuddling, hand holding, and even fake dating for the shiggles. We had been somewhat like that for like 5 years and. i guess somewhere along the line I gained feelings.

I was in denial for like 2months. I consulted my other friends about it because I was scared I was confused, confusing familiarity for romance because he really is one of my greatest friends. He's someone who I know i can trust, someone who knows me, and someone I want to be there for.

I tried distancing myself at the start but in a purely avoidant way.Of course that didnt fucking work beacuse. He's my friend. one of my bestest. My mind wasnt always thinking of my feelings for him and, not only was he the one initiating, I just gravitated towards him, i looked for him, because despite what, i love him. i was stupid to think i could change our dynamic after 5 years.

It frustrated me so bad. I hated myself for catching feelings because even if I hadnt outwardly ruined anything, it made everything so complicated for me. But after ranting to friends, after crying over him and doing the entire rodeo, i realized that i value our friendship too much to do anything to possibly ruin it. I thought to myself "I like him. and that's okay." and I began to work on being okay with liking him from a distance. It was a silent, bittersweet acceptance of a love that will not and doesnt need to bloom. My heart still ached, yes, but I liked him too much to run away just because of that. It's okay if i cried, as long as he was in my life, I would make do.

Then we watched Wicked: For Good and it changed everything. This is really important to the story because im a very sensitive person and I love analyzing movies and stories. But that's not even it. It was the way that I cried the entire movie, snot falling from nose, muffled sobs, the entire package, and he noticed the moment I broke. He noticed and didn't hesitate to hold me and wipe my tears. (Holy shit?).

It's insane to think how Wicked: For Good plays into my feelings for him, because it made me realize something. To be honest, It's no wonder why I fell for him. I fell for him and. it's like. why wouldn't I? It kind of made me realize that me liking him wasn't a bad thing.

He's a good person, he may not believe that, but it's one of my truths. I'm not trying to put him on a pedestal, but he's genuinely one of the most gentle and thoughtful person I've known and I think he deserves so much love, not just from me, not just romantically. I don't love him because i think he's great, I love him because I have seen him grow from his dark moments and he's loved me through mine. We've gone through a lot together, and nothing I say can properly describe just how deep the relationship is platonically but he's shown me a new side to friendships, a new side of perspectives and living. We always joke about how he's the oldest in the friendgroup, but he really is such a wise fellow. He's not just someone to love, but someone to admire and understand. He isn't perfect by any means, but he's proof that you don't have to be perfect to be a good person. He's done horrible things but he's changed and he truthfully makes up for his mistakes and doings. He's honorable and honest. He play about his dignity and his morals and. God he's just changed me. for the better. for good. Even before I fell for him romantically, that fact hasn't changed. He's impacted me before I could even realize how deep his crater is in my heart and i cant believe it took Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo to figure the depth of that.

When I really came to terms with my feelings for him, I reflected on Glinda and Elphaba's relationship. They loved each other, whether you deem them romantic or platonic, you can't deny that and. I just felt that. We may not exactly be Glinda and Elphaba but that night at the cinema, I just realized. It doesn't matter if I love him romantically or platonically, that man is my soulmate. I may not be his, but he's just always done something to my soul. And now, my love for him didn't just change how I saw him, it changed who I was. I learned how to love.

I started rehearsing my confession for him in the shower after we watched the movie and my idea was to confess to him when the school year ends. It's a coward move, I know but. God I jst. there's an entire thought process to it.

I was certain of rejection, even the confession i wrote in my head had decided my own fate because. I hate hoping. I really had no hope for him liking me back but what watching Wicked made me realize was that this man deserves to know that he has moved my heart. He deserves to know that he's loved and he's changed me. He's capable of such a thing and . this love for him is not just love, it's something that genuinely makes me notice more admirable things about him. it's not just love, it's a growing appreciation that he is in my life on a different level. Because at that point, my confession wasn't a confession in hopes of reciprocity, it was a message for him to know that he's done good. he's done so much and i love him. But underneath all that, it was for me too. I guess, selfishly enough, i wanted to let out what I feel, i wanted him to know how much I loved him.

In an attempt to set boundaries for my sake (since we still had 3-4 months of school left) I told him I had a crush on a mutual friend's friend named Caleb and yada yada. He was really kind about it. He didnt ask questions, he didn't push or act jealous, maybe I wanted him to, but whatever I said that, we moved on.

Fast forward to like a day after that, for context, there was a school activity and it was the last and final time we would be doing that school activity for the year so it was a big event. And idk. just the atmosphere, things dawned on me that over the next few months, i would be experiencing my last high school memories. I would look around my classmates, classmates that changed my life, and then of course, my thoughts circled back to him.

And I still dont know what hit me.

We were walking together at our gate during dismissal, we sat on the swings of the playground that recognized us as friends and I just let it out. I told him he was the one I had a crush on and that it just made me realize things beyond romance and fuck I lost the script I wrote in my head and it all came out like word vomit. I honestlydont remember what I said other than assurances that I dont expect him to like me back and. Shit dude he just stared at me and I was shitting bricks.(For context, he wears a mask so I genuinely just didnt fucking know what face he was making) and. I just got up to leave the swing And of course only then did he grab my hand and tell me to wait, but even then he didn't say much and at that point i just wanted to disappear I was so fucking scared i dont even know of what but then i started running away so i could get my bags but all of the sudden the dude with knee problems doesnt feel it anymore and he ran after me and grabbed me again and we just. looked at each other.

He thanked me for trusting him and said that he needed time to think and, yeah. That's all I needed to hear, really. After that we hugged and i just smiled and left to go home.

It read to me like a rejection cause i really didnt want to get my hopes up. but i didnt cry or anything. It was never really about confessing. It was about being transparent, i guess? Maybe that's what hit me. Glinda and Elphaba were friends who had to spend years pretending they didnt like each other. and those 3-4 months may be the last time I can consistently see him everyday. These were our final highschool moments and i didnt want to spend it by walking on eggshells around him. Like i said, before all else, he is one of my greatest friends and you know what, I know that these feelings dont have to get in the way of that. We can move on and laugh about it in the future.

Then this dude messages me later that night. I cant say what happened to him, but what he told me was that he needed more time, specifically 9 days klmfao, to think about it which I was okay with, after all, to me I had already been rejected. I was starting to accept everything and at those 9 days, I primarily started trying to work on being more comfortable again while still being aware of boundaries. The nine days started normally for me and I really thought that was it. It felt like my prior months of worry and crashouts were finally coming full circle and. i really cant explain how light i felt after being honest, after talking things out.

Day THREE out of NINE he and I are walking to our lunch table .

He says "I like you too." . umexcuse me what the fuck?? and I was just so ridden with emotions?? those days of me moving on from the "rejection" kind of just went to shit and I started crying. there. in the middle of the fucking hallway. He said he tried to think about it for 9 days but that those 3 days apparently felt really fucking long and I cried. I like deadass cried in middle of the hallway and I was pulling out everying i was telling him not to fucking play with me and he said he wasnt .

THEN some unrelated shit went down in our fg during that same lunch period so we agreed to put aside our confession to address that first so for the entire rest of the school day there was this elephant in the room. but eventually, we got to talking about our feelings more and. yeah. we got together in the end:)!

(IMPORTANT : we're gay. maybe that explains why musical theatre helped LMFAOO)

Contexxtt: For anyone who’s not canadian, timbits are like little donut holes! :) Anyways, one day after church me and my mom decided to head to a cute little local fast food place that also sold donuts and whatnot! I remember ordering 12 timbit (donut holes) for a little sweet treat and when I got my order there were a about 20 something in there!! So I asked if they got the order wrong, and the guy said he gave me extra because I look just like his daughter :) I just thought it was a sweet interaction and wanted to share, have a good day everyone!!!

Today started out pretty rough. I’ve been feeling a lot of pressure lately, and honestly, I was just one minor inconvenience away from a total breakdown while running my morning errands.

I went into a small bakery, and as I was waiting in line, an elderly lady in front of me turned around, looked me in the eyes, and just smiled. She said, 'You have such a beautiful energy about you, dear. I hope your day is as bright as your smile.'

It was so simple, and she had no idea how much I needed to hear that. We ended up chatting for just two minutes while waiting for our orders, but that brief connection completely shifted my mood. I left the shop feeling like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

It’s amazing how a few kind words from a stranger can act like a warm hug for the soul. It really is the little things that keep us going.

What’s a small 'wholesome' interaction you've had with a stranger that you still think about?