Chapter 8 — The Weight We Share

I stood frozen.

Kaiya's words echoed in my mind like a broken record.

"You're not the only one they're targeting now…"

My thoughts scattered like shards of glass. My chest tightened as the full weight of her statement sank in. She had stood beside me, lifted me out of the dark, and now — because of me — the shadows had turned toward her too.

"They posted about me," she whispered. Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed the storm. "Fake screenshots… edited chats… things I never said."

My fists clenched. Not in fear — in fury. How dare they?

"What… what did you do?" I asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

She looked at me — calm, almost too calm. "I posted nothing. I said nothing. I just… kept showing up to class. And to you."

The silence between us grew heavy, thick with unspoken pain. She didn't flinch. She didn't retreat. Instead, she smiled gently and said, "Looks like the storm picked the wrong people."

I couldn't help but smile back, even though my insides churned.

That day, something inside me shifted.

I wasn't alone anymore.

And suddenly, this wasn't just about proving myself to my parents or fighting my own demons. It was about protecting the person who believed in me when I didn't even believe in myself.

We sat on the school rooftop later that week — our unofficial refuge. The wind was wild, and the clouds above threatened rain, but neither of us moved. I pulled my sketchbook from my bag and flipped to a blank page.

"I want to draw something new," I muttered.

Kaiya tilted her head. "Another half-submerged boy?"

I shook my head. "No. Something different."

And I began to draw — not a person this time, but a shield. Cracked, battered, but still standing tall in front of a flickering flame. The flame was small, fragile, but determined. Behind it, a second flame — brighter, steady — watching over it.

Kaiya leaned over my shoulder and smiled. "That's you and me?"

I nodded. "You're the brighter flame."

She tapped the shield. "And we both need this."

The next few days were war.

Rumors spread faster than wildfire. Whispers followed us in hallways. Desks shifted away from ours. Even teachers looked at us differently — as if scandal clung to our names.

But we showed up.

Every day.

We took notes. Answered questions. Laughed quietly at each other's jokes. And slowly, something strange started happening — the whispers didn't stop, but their sting dulled. Some classmates even looked at us with quiet admiration.

Because in a world where most people break under pressure, we were still standing.

One afternoon, a familiar voice caught me off guard.

"Kai…"

I turned. It was Rithik — one of the guys who used to laugh at me the loudest. The same guy who once tore a sketch from my notebook and called it 'scribbles from a loser.'

"What do you want?" I asked, careful not to raise my voice.

He looked nervous. "I just… I saw what they did to you both. And how you kept showing up anyway. That's... not easy. I couldn't have."

I didn't know what to say. I didn't trust it. But I nodded slightly. "We didn't do it to impress anyone."

He nodded back. "Yeah. That's why it's impressive."

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I wasn't just surviving.

I was earning respect.

Later that evening, Kaiya and I sat under a rusted streetlight near her house. The light buzzed above us, flickering just enough to make everything feel poetic.

"I have a theory," she said suddenly.

"About what?"

"About storms. You know how people always think they come to destroy?"

"Yeah?"

She leaned back, looking up. "I think they come to reveal. What's weak gets washed away. What's strong… stays."

I stared at her for a moment, memorizing her face in that golden flicker. "You're right," I said softly. "And I'm not going anywhere."

She smiled, but then her eyes darkened. "But the storm's not done yet."

"What do you mean?"

She pulled her phone out and showed me a message she had just received.

"Let's see if you keep smiling after tomorrow."

My pulse spiked. "Who sent that?"

She shook her head. "No name. No clue."

The screen went dark, and the streetlight above us flickered again — almost on cue.

And just like that, I knew...

The storm wasn't done testing us yet.

End of Chapter 8