night before my thirteenth birthday felt heavier than I expected.
I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling as the fan spun lazily above me, pushing warm air around the room. Tomorrow, everyone said, I would be a teenager. The word sounded exciting when adults said it, but alone in the dark, it made my stomach twist.
Thirteen felt like a line I was supposed to cross.
I thought about school, about friendships that felt like they were changing even when no one talked about it. About how some people suddenly cared more about how they looked, who they sat with, and who they liked. Especially who they liked.
My phone buzzed softly. A message from Zara popped up:
Can't believe you'll be 13 tomorrow đ
I smiled, then sighed.
There was also another name in my contacts I kept scrolling past.
Ethan.
He sat two rows ahead of me in class. We didn't talk much, but sometimes our eyes met, and my heart would do something strangeâlike it forgot how to beat properly. I told myself it was silly. I was too young for crushes, wasn't I?
Still, I wondered if being thirteen meant those feelings were allowed now.
Before sleep found me, I whispered a small hope into the dark.
Please don't let me mess this up.