Courage_Sunny

She lives out loud in her mind-and writes it all down in secret.

Wunor is 17, quiet on the outside but overflowing with thoughts she can't say aloud. In her diary, she's honest, bold, and unfiltered. She writes about everything-her weird dreams, her fears, the boy she might be falling for, and the feeling that she doesn't quite fit in.

But what happens when the lines between her imagined world and real life start to blur?

WUNOR'S DIARY is a raw and emotional coming-of-age story about growing up, staying true to yourself, and finding power in your own voice.

WUNOR 'S DIARY

"Healing is messy. But sometimes, it looks like laughter shared over pizza."

Not the dramatic kind where someone dies or gets married —

but the soft kind, where characters just exist, and you feel like maybe you're living in the same rhythm as the world.

Three people — me, Jia, and him — spending a Saturday together after the tangle of emotions this week.

We met at the park near the old library, the one with the crooked swing and the giant tree that looks like it's guarding a secret.

Jia brought her loudest opinions and newest playlist.

I brought my diary — you, of course — and a small ache in my chest I wasn't sure what to do with.

"Ground rules," Jia said, before we even sat down.

"No weird couple-eyes when I'm talking. No whispering like I'm not here. And I get first pick of the pizza topping."

He raised a hand in mock surrender.

"I fear you more than the school principal."

The tension cracked a little. Like sunlight through clouds.

We laid out our snacks on a pink picnic cloth that didn't really match anything, but somehow made it better.

Jia pulled out an old game — that one where you ask questions and everyone has to answer or eat something disgusting.

"Who here has ever cried because someone didn't text back?"

"Who here has imagined kissing someone under the rain?"

He looked away, pretending to drink juice.

Jia raised an eyebrow and smirked.

Then we climbed the old tree — because Jia dared us.

I was scared at first, but I ended up higher than both of them, laughing like I hadn't in weeks.

From up there, the world looked soft.

Like all its edges had been sanded down for a while.

Like maybe — just maybe — everything could be okay.

We didn't talk about what happened earlier this week.

But sometimes, forgiveness doesn't need to be spoken aloud.

Sometimes it lives in shared songs and passed juice boxes and the way you hold space for each other, even after the storms.

Just listened to our shoes on the gravel and the birds saying their sleepy goodbyes to the sun.

"I want to be part of your world, Wunor. Not the reason it becomes smaller."

I don't know what made me do it — maybe the light, maybe his voice, maybe the way his eyes held mine like a question he didn't want to ask out loud — but I reached out and held his hand.

Today taught me that love doesn't have to be loud to be strong.

That friendship, even bruised, can still bloom.

And that sometimes the best memories are made when nothing big happens —

just tiny, healing, human moments.

We're learning how to be three beats of the same song.

Wunor 🎶🍕🌳

Chapter 63: Three Beats of the Same Song