Chapter 2: The First Step
Morning: A ray of hope
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By the time Chen woke, the rain had stopped. A pale, overcast sky glimmered the world outside his window. He lay there for a while, listening to the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of a bird. For the first time in weeks, the weight on his chest felt a little lighter, as if the storm inside him had finally begun to subside.
He took the journal from his nightstand and flipped through the pages he'd scrawled with reckless abandon a few nights earlier. It was messy, raw, and completely unfiltered – like the cacophony brewing inside his brain. And somehow, for the first time ever, it all belonged to him.
In the kitchen, he toasted some bread and boiled an egg and sliced into an orange: a small victory, a minuscule recovery of normality. He sat down to his little breakfast and read over for the hundredth time the last lines he'd written:
"I don't know how to fix everything, but maybe I don't have to. Maybe it's enough just to keep going."
Words, therefore, were like a lifeline reminding him that healing wasn't about getting rid of the pain but about learning how to carry the pain around.
School: Essay Assignment
School afternoons waiting for that bell to sound were spent waiting in Ms. Alina's classroom. And here he sits holding the journal in his grasp, unsure he wants to go to her, not knowing now that he possibly should. Now it's only Jia next to him wearing hair that might be cotton candy pink, half undone in messy strands.
"Oh," she spoke softly. "You look so. better now. Not lugging the load of the earth around.
Chen shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I wrote some stuff. In the journal."
Jia's eyes lit up. "That's great! Writing helps, doesn't it? It's like… you're taking all the chaos in your head and putting it somewhere else."
Chen nodded, feeling a flicker of gratitude. "Yeah. It does."
She looked up to see Alina walking in with two arms full of books. She was smiling when she saw Chen. "Good morning. Did you bring the journal?"
Chen hesitated a little before handing it to her. "I wrote something. It's… personal."
Ms. Alina took the journal delicately, as if it is something precious. "Thank you for trusting me with this. I'll read it later but remember, it's for you, not for me.".
He felt a strange feeling of relief and exposure as he pushed the door open to enter the classroom.
Lunch: A New Table
At lunch, Chen stood in the doorway to the cafeteria. He ate alone every day, but today Jia beckoned him to come over to her table where a group of students already sat. There was Miguel, Luna, and some others that Chen recognized, but hadn't spoken much to yet: Sophia, Rafi, and Elena.
"Sit with us," Jia said, patting the empty seat beside her.
Chen hesitated, then sat down. The table buzzed with conversation, and though he didn't contribute much, he found himself smiling at their jokes and stories.
Miguel leaned over, his tone teasing but kind. "Look who decided to join the land of the living."
Chen rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a grin. "Don't get used to it."
She talked across to him, "So, Chen, do you think about joining the running club? We could really use someone with your. determination."
Chen's eyebrow went up. "Determination? Code for 'stubborn'?"
The table fell into a fit of laughter and, for the first time in months, Chen felt he was part of something.
After School: A Run with Luna
After the final bell, Chen found himself standing at the edge of the track field, watching Luna stretch. She had convinced him to give running a try, and though he was skeptical, he couldn't deny the curiosity her words had sparked.
"Ready?" she asked, her breath visible in the cool afternoon air.
Chen nodded, though his stomach churned with nerves. "I'm not exactly in shape."
Luna smiled. "That's the point, you don't have to start out being particularly good at anything. You can just take a first step for starters.".
They ran slowly, jogged side by side around the track. Chen was breathy at first, his gasps coming short and uneven. But by the middle of the third lap, though, something seemed to have shifted. The rhythmic pounding of his feet on the ground, the in-and-out of his breathing-it was almost meditative.
By the time they finished their third lap, Chen was drenched in sweat but grinning. "That wasn't. terrible."
Luna grinned. "Told you. Running's not about speed. It's about persistence. Just like life."
Chen nodded, this time feeling some sort of completion he hadn't felt in so long.
Night: A Call from Dad
That night, Chen's dad called again. But this time, he somehow felt that it was different than the previous night. Less tense and more open.
"How is school?" he asked, but his voice came softer than normal.
"It's… better," Chen said. "I've been writing. And I joined the running club."
There was a silence, and then his father said, "Your mother would be proud of you."
The words enveloped Chen, and for the first time in months, he allowed himself to weep-not in sorrow, but in relief.
And that night, when he lay in bed, Chen just thought of the small triumphs of the day: the fact that he got to write something in his journal, ate with Luna over lunch, took Luna out for a run. He found himself to be actually moving forward-one step at a time-for probably the first time in a long while.
He pulled out his journal and wrote:
"
Morning: A ray of hope
By the time Chen woke, the rain had stopped. A pale, overcast sky glimmered the world outside his window. He lay there for a while, listening to the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of a bird. For the first time in weeks, the weight on his chest felt a little lighter, as if the storm inside him had finally begun to subside.
He took the journal from his nightstand and flipped through the pages he'd scrawled with reckless abandon a few nights earlier. It was messy, raw, and completely unfiltered – like the cacophony brewing inside his brain. And somehow, for the first time ever, it all belonged to him.
In the kitchen, he toasted some bread and boiled an egg and sliced into an orange: a small victory, a minuscule recovery of normality. He sat down to his little breakfast and read over for the hundredth time the last lines he'd written:
"I don't know how to fix everything, but maybe I don't have to. Maybe it's enough just to keep going."
Words, therefore, were like a lifeline reminding him that healing wasn't about getting rid of the pain but about learning how to carry the pain around.
School: Essay Assignment
School afternoons waiting for that bell to sound were spent waiting in Ms. Alina's classroom. And here he sits holding the journal in his grasp, unsure he wants to go to her, not knowing now that he possibly should. Now it's only Jia next to him wearing hair that might be cotton candy pink, half undone in messy strands.
"Oh," she spoke softly. "You look so. better now. Not lugging the load of the earth around.
Chen shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I wrote some stuff. In the journal."
Jia's eyes lit up. "That's great! Writing helps, doesn't it? It's like… you're taking all the chaos in your head and putting it somewhere else."
Chen nodded, feeling a flicker of gratitude. "Yeah. It does."
She looked up to see Alina walking in with two arms full of books. She was smiling when she saw Chen. "Good morning. Did you bring the journal?"
Chen hesitated a little before handing it to her. "I wrote something. It's… personal."
Ms. Alina took the journal delicately, as if it is something precious. "Thank you for trusting me with this. I'll read it later but remember, it's for you, not for me.".
He felt a strange feeling of relief and exposure as he pushed the door open to enter the classroom.
Lunch: A New Table
At lunch, Chen stood in the doorway to the cafeteria. He ate alone every day, but today Jia beckoned him to come over to her table where a group of students already sat. There was Miguel, Luna, and some others that Chen recognized, but hadn't spoken much to yet: Sophia, Rafi, and Elena.
"Sit with us," Jia said, patting the empty seat beside her.
Chen hesitated, then sat down. The table buzzed with conversation, and though he didn't contribute much, he found himself smiling at their jokes and stories.
Miguel leaned over, his tone teasing but kind. "Look who decided to join the land of the living."
Chen rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a grin. "Don't get used to it."
She talked across to him, "So, Chen, do you think about joining the running club? We could really use someone with your. determination."
Chen's eyebrow went up. "Determination? Code for 'stubborn'?"
The table fell into a fit of laughter and, for the first time in months, Chen felt he was part of something.
After School: A Run with Luna
After the final bell, Chen found himself standing at the edge of the track field, watching Luna stretch. She had convinced him to give running a try, and though he was skeptical, he couldn't deny the curiosity her words had sparked.
"Ready?" she asked, her breath visible in the cool afternoon air.
Chen nodded, though his stomach churned with nerves. "I'm not exactly in shape."
Luna smiled. "That's the point, you don't have to start out being particularly good at anything. You can just take a first step for starters.".
They ran slowly, jogged side by side around the track. Chen was breathy at first, his gasps coming short and uneven. But by the middle of the third lap, though, something seemed to have shifted. The rhythmic pounding of his feet on the ground, the in-and-out of his breathing-it was almost meditative.
By the time they finished their third lap, Chen was drenched in sweat but grinning. "That wasn't. terrible."
Luna grinned. "Told you. Running's not about speed. It's about persistence. Just like life."
Chen nodded, this time feeling some sort of completion he hadn't felt in so long.
Night: A Call from Dad
That night, Chen's dad called again. But this time, he somehow felt that it was different than the previous night. Less tense and more open.
"How is school?" he asked, but his voice came softer than normal.
"It's… better," Chen said. "I've been writing. And I joined the running club."
There was a silence, and then his father said, "Your mother would be proud of you."
The words enveloped Chen, and for the first time in months, he allowed himself to weep-not in sorrow, but in relief.
A New Chapter
And that night, when he lay in bed, Chen just thought of the small triumphs of the day: the fact that he got to write something in his journal, ate with Luna over lunch, took Luna out for a run. He found himself to be actually moving forward-one step at a time-for probably the first time in a long while.
He pulled out his journal and wrote:
"The first step is always the hardest. But once you take it, you realize you're stronger than you think."
He spent the week in the library, staring blankly at a trigonometry textbook lying open on the desk in front of him. Equations ran together to meaningless symbols; numbers swam on the page like tiny black fish. His mother's voice echoed in his mind: "Education is your future, bǎobèi. Don't waste it."
How was he supposed to concentrate on when each formula would remind him of the hospital bills she had never shown him. The ones that were crumpled in her nightstand and he had come across after her death? ¥250,000 for chemotherapy. ¥80,000 for radiation. Numbers now became his worst enemy.
"Hey." A soft voice broke through his thoughts. Sophia, the quiet girl from his history class, slid into the seat beside him. Her glasses were smudged, and her braids were streaked with purple. "You look like you're trying to murder that textbook."
Chen blinked. "It's winning."
Sophia laughed, a sound like wind chimes. "Trig's the worst. Want help?"
He hesitated. Accepting help felt like admitting weakness, but Sophia's smile was genuine. "Sure."
She walked him through the problems for the next hour, endless patience. Chen found himself relaxing, even laughing when she compared sine waves to "angry snakes." For the first time, math did not feel like a punishment.
The Secret of the Journal
That night, Chen sat at his desk, opening the journal to a blank page. Ms. Alina had brought it back to him that day with a sticky note attached: "Your words are powerful. Keep writing." He followed the lines of his inky fingerprints on his fingers, left from last night's marathon scribbling.
He wrote of Sophia's gentle nature, about how Luna had told him to run, run, run: just as he remembered his mother telling him over and over, "Keep moving forward."
But he had no words about his father.
Why can't I tell him how angry I am? he scribbled, pushing down so hard with the pen it tore the page. He left us. He left ME.
He slammed the journal shut, guilt clawing at his throat. How could he blame his father for working to pay off the medical debt? For trying to keep them afloat?
His phone buzzed—a text from Jia.
Jia: U alive? Haven't seen u all day.
Chen: Library. Trig torture.
Jia: Meet me at the courtyard. 5 mins. Bring snacks.
The Courtyard Confession
The school courtyard was deserted, except for Jia, who sat cross-legged under the old magnolia tree, tossing crumbs to a flock of sparrows. She patted the ground beside her.
"Sit. The birds won't bite."
Chen sat down, pulling out a bag of chips.
"What's up?"
Jia didn't say anything. She just sat there, watching as a sparrow fought with another over a crumb, her face a mask. "My mom died when I was ten. Pancreatic cancer."
Chen froze. "I… didn't know."
"I don't talk about it." She shrugged. "But I recognized that look in your eyes. The one that says, 'If I pretend I'm okay, maybe I'll believe it.'"
Chen's chest tightened. "Does it ever get easier?"
"No," Jia replied, meeting his eyes. "But it gets. different. You learn to carry it."
They sat there in silence while the sparrows flitted about and fled the twilight.
Miguel's Apology
The next day, Chen walked down the crowded hallway and nearly ran into a person shuffling from foot to foot in front of his locker.
"Well," Miguel said, reaching back and scratching at the nape of his neck. "About the other day. I didn't mean to push. I just. miss you, man."
Chen's throat burned. "I miss you too."
Miguel pulled out a crumpled photograph from his pocket, a picture of them at 13, covered in mud after a stinging failure to construct a treehouse. "Remember this? Your mom made us hot cocoa and called us 'her little disaster artists'."
The memory was sharp and sweet and made him laugh. "She let us sleep in the living room because we were too sore to climb the stairs."
Miguel smiled. "We'll get through this. Together. Okay?"
Chen nodded, keeping the photo safely ensconced inside his journal like a talisman.
The Breaking Point
Two days later, Chen's fragile momentum collapsed.
He had been up till 2 a.m. trying to cram for this physics test; he overslept and missed it. When Mr. Tan summoned him to the counselor's office, Chen expected a tongue-lashing. Instead, the man poured a steaming mug of tea across his desk.
"You are drained," he said gently. "You cannot pour from an empty cup, Chen."
Sentimentality was what undid him. Chen's voice cracked. "I'm trying so hard but it just never cuts it. Dad kills himself with overtime and here I'm stuck flunking tests and—"
" And you're human, Chen," Mr. Tan broke in. "Your worth didn't depend upon your grades or how productive you were. Your mother loved you, not on what you may become or produce."
Chen buried his face in his hands as he shook with his shoulders. For the first time since the burial, he allowed someone to see him break.
The Night Run
That night, Chen couldn't sleep. He pulled on his sneakers and ran.
The streets were vacant, lit by nothing but a few flickering streetlamps. He ran until his lungs were burned, until his legs screamed, and until the anguish and the remorse became numb. When he stopped finally, he was at the park where, as a little boy, he would go with his mother.
The old oak tree still stood at the center, its branches heavy with childhood memories. Chen pressed his palm to the bark, tears mixing with sweat. "I miss you," he whispered.
The wind rustled the leaves, and for a heartbeat, he could almost hear her voice: "I'm here, bǎobèi. Always."
A New Resolve
The next morning, Chen walked into Ms. Alina's classroom and placed the journal on her desk.
"I want to write the essay," he said. "About my mom. About… everything."
Ms. Alina smiled. "It doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be true."
At lunch, Chen sat at the table of the group once more, but this time with a bag of his mother's favorite almond cookies to distribute. As laughter filled the air, he realized this was what healing looked like-not an absence of pain, but a mosaic of small, defiant acts of hope.