The rain stops sometime during the night.
By morning the street looks washed clean, like the sky decided to erase everything and start again. The air smells fresh, and the sunlight seems brighter than usual.
I notice things like that more now.
Before, the world outside my bubble felt distant. Like something happening somewhere else.
Now it feels closer.
Not completely close. But closer.
At school I find myself paying attention to things I normally ignore. Conversations around me. The sound of chairs scraping against the floor. Someone laughing in the back of the room.
It feels strange.
Like I'm standing in a place I've been in for years but seeing it clearly for the first time.
During lunch I sit at my usual table near the window.
A girl from my class sits across from me without asking.
Normally that would make me uncomfortable.
Today it doesn't.
"You're Bora, right?" she asks.
I nod.
"I'm May."
Her voice is friendly but not overly cheerful, which I appreciate.
For a moment we just sit there.
Then she glances at the notebook beside my tray.
"You write?"
I look down at it.
"Yes."
"What kind of things?"
"Mostly thoughts," I say.
"Poetry?"
I blink in surprise.
"How did you guess?"
She shrugs.
"People who carry notebooks usually write poetry."
That logic makes me smile a little.
"I draw sometimes," she says, tapping her pencil lightly against the table. "Not very well though."
"I'm sure it's better than you think."
She grins.
"Maybe."
The conversation is simple. Easy.
When the bell rings, she waves before heading to class.
"See you tomorrow, Bora."
I watch her walk away.
A new friend.
The thought feels unfamiliar. Yet... curious.
That afternoon I step outside again.
Sam is already there.
"You look like something interesting happened," he says immediately.
I cross my arms lightly.
"Why do you say that?"
"You're smiling."
I hadn't realized.
"I talked to someone today," I say.
"That sounds normal."
"For most people."
He laughs softly.
"Fair point."
I sit down near the fence again.
"A girl from my class. May."
"And?"
"I think she might be my friend."
The word feels strange when I say it.
But it also feels… good.
Sam leans back slightly against the step.
"See," he says. "The world outside the bubble isn't so terrible."
"Don't get too confident," I warn.
"I'm just observing."
There's a quiet pause.
Then he looks at me a little more seriously.
"You're changing," he says.
The words aren't judgmental. Just thoughtful.
"Is that a bad thing?" I ask.
"No," he answers immediately.
He studies my expression for a moment.
"I think you were always like this," he adds. "You just didn't let anyone see it."
The sentence stays with me.
Maybe he's right.
Maybe the bubble didn't create who I was.
Maybe it only hid parts of me.
The evening light begins to soften as the sun lowers behind the houses.
For a moment neither of us speaks.
Then he says quietly, "You know something?"
"What?"
"I think your bubble is already breaking."
I look at him.
"It didn't break," I say slowly.
"Then what happened?"
I think about the rain. The bookstore. The conversation with May.
And about him.
"It's dissolving," I say.
Sam smiles slightly.
"That sounds better."
For the first time, the idea of the bubble disappearing completely doesn't feel terrifying.
It feels… possible.