Ayra’s Monologue

  Birth... death... life.People always say a human changes with time—shaped by their situations, by the people they meet, by the world around them. Some resist that change.Some fight it.Some ignore it altogether—gripped by fear.

  Fear of losing control.Fear of watching their world slip through their fingers—family, friends, everything they knew.

  But everyone forgets one crucial thing:

  Where does change begin?Is it something that comes from outside of us?Or... does it start from within?

  Because depending on its origin, change can either lift you to success...or quietly guide you to failure.

  This is the story of a couple—two souls—who chose to stay true to who they were… just as they had been, long ago, as children.

  ? ? ?

  A Summer Afternoon

  The sun hung high in the sky, its golden light spilling across the quiet corner of the park. Cicadas buzzed in the heat, the air thick with the scent of warm grass and the distant echoes of ughter.

  But here—there was no ughter. Just the sound of fists.

  A punch nded with a sharp thud.

  Three boys stood over another who seemed to be the age of 3, who now y sprawled on the ground. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he clutched something close to him.

  "Tch. He's so persistent… even though it's not even his pet," one boy scoffed.

  The one in the center shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away with a sigh. “Let’s go. This is a waste of time.”

  Without another word, the others followed.

  They didn’t look back.

  The boy on the ground blinked up at the sky, his vision blurred by sweat and dust. Soft clouds drifted zily above—shapeless, distant, uncaring.

  Then, a shadow fell across his face.

  He blinked again. A figure appeared—small, perhaps the same age as him, or maybe even a little younger. Wide, round eyes peered down at him. Chubby cheeks, slightly flushed. Red hair framed the face in soft, wind-kissed waves, brushing against shoulders.

  The child wore a pink shirt with ce-trimmed sleeves, beige shorts, and vender slippers adorned with a pink butterfly.

  With a gentle motion, the stranger tucked a stray lock of hair behind one ear and knelt down.

  “Are you alright?” the voice was soft, full of concern.

  The boy blinked up at the stranger, his cheeks warming. “I-I’m alright…”

  Whatever he had been protecting stirred. A kitten poked its little head out from between his arms, blinking in the sunlight.

  The other child gasped, eyes sparkling. “Hey! Is that a meow-meow?!”

  “Meow-meow?” he echoed, puzzled. “Oh… you mean cat?”

  “Mm!” The child nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, yes! It’s a meow-meow! Awww, it’s so cute!”

  Just then, the kitten wriggled free and bounded into the bushes.

  “Awwww…” the child pouted. “It ran away. I wanted to pet it…”

  The boy stood up and began brushing dirt from his clothes. Dust rose in small flurries.

  “Ahh! What are you doing, meanie?!” The other child filed their hands, waving the dust away with a whine.

  “Huh? I was just dusting my shirt…” he said, confused.

  He finally took a proper look at the stranger—the delicate ce, the soft colors, the expressive eyes.

  “You… Are you a girl?” he asked, tilting his head.

  “H-Huh…? W-What are you asking? I-I’m a boy…” came the flustered reply.

  “Are you sure? You look like those cartoon girls my sister watches…”

  “I-I’m not a girl! I told you, I’m a boy!”

  He leaned in, examining the child with a curious expression. “Hmm… weird. You’re weird.”

  The other child stepped back, startled. “W-Weird? Why?!”

  “You’re not like other boys… That’s why you’re weird.”

  “Ehhhh?! I’m not like other boys? H-How are other boys?”

  “They… shout a lot, get dirty, wear sneakers, py outside, fight each other,” he listed, gncing away. “But you… you’re not like that. You’re… nice. Clean. Beautiful.”

  The other child blinked. “Mama says I shouldn’t py out in the sun… or I’ll turn all bck and watery. I don’t like getting bck and watery.”

  “Oh… I see. That’s why you’re weird,” he said with a nod.

  The child’s lower lip trembled. “D-Don’t call me weird… I-I’m gonna cry…”

  “W-What?! Why?” He panicked, stepping forward. “I only said it because… because you are…”

  “You said it again! I’m not weird! Mama said so!” Tears welled in those rge eyes.

  “H-Hey, don’t cry! W-What did I do?!” He looked around frantically, searching for anything that could help.

  A flower caught his eye. It had fallen to the ground, a soft yellow bloom.

  He plucked it quickly and held it out.

  “H-Here… Take this. Y-You like flowers, right?”

  The child peeked between fingers, the tears slowly stopping. Eyes widened at the flower.

  “You’re giving this to me?” the voice was small, but full of wonder. “Thank you!”

  He rubbed the petals gently against his cheek, beaming.

  “Wait…” His eyes narrowed pyfully. “H-How did you know I love flowers? I didn’t tell you.”

  “I-I just guessed! That’s it!” the boy replied, quickly turning away.

  “Hey… tell me! Tell me!” The other child leaned closer, giggling.

  “Boys don’t like flowers… You’re weird, so I thought maybe you would.”

  “You’re calling me weird again…” came the wounded sniffle.

  “N-No! I meant… weird in a good way!” he scrambled. “My sister is cute and pretty like you, and she likes flowers too! So I just thought…”

  “I-I’m… cute?” the child whispered.

  “Y-Yeah…”

  “Pretty too?”

  “Yeah…” he nodded shyly.

  The child’s smile lit up like sunshine. “Really? Thank you! Mama says I’m cute and pretty too! Now you say it… maybe I am!”

  The boy murmured to himself, barely audible, “You really are… I’ve never met a boy who’s happy being called cute and pretty…”

  “Hmm? What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”

  “N-Nothing!”

  The child cradled the flower and looked up. “Thank you for the flower... and for calling me cute. What’s your name?”

  “I-I’m… Daiki. Daiki Fujisawa,” he answered with a sniffle. “What about you?”

  A breeze stirred the leaves as the child smiled, soft and glowing.

  “I’m Ayra… Saki.”

  ? ? ?