Maya Fernandes Liam liked mornings best when the park was still quiet, when the only sound was the distant bark of a dog or the shuffle of leaves under shoes that weren’t his own, when he could walk past the fountain and not feel the weight of other people’s eyes on him. The bench near the fountain was old, its paint chipped in places, its iron arms cold in autumn, but it was his grandmother’s bench, or at least he thought of it that way, because she had sat there with him for years, tossing breadcrumbs at the pigeons that…
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Maya Kapoor First Bell of Summer The last day of school always felt like a door being slammed shut and another thrown wide open. The classrooms still smelled faintly of chalk dust and overheated computers, the air buzzing with the kind of restless energy that only came when you knew you wouldn’t be trapped here again for another three months. I shoved my history notebook deep into my bag, even though I’d never open it again. Around me, voices rose in a mixture of laughter and relief. “Freedom!” someone shouted from the back row, and it set off a chain…
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Isla Verma Mira Patel wasn’t expecting to find anything interesting in a house that smelled like mothballs and mildew. Her grandfather’s old bungalow in Elmsworth was the kind of place that felt stuck between timelines—one foot in 1973, the other refusing to acknowledge anything after dial-up internet. Still, here she was, sleeves rolled up, armed with cardboard boxes, and guilt-tripped by her father into helping him “sort things out.” “Start with the attic,” he’d said, handing her a flashlight like they were preparing for a cave dive instead of old furniture and dead spiders. The attic door groaned like something…