I suffered from chronic insomnia, and the sun beating down my neck was getting to me. I glanced pitifully at the leaves carpeting the base of the oldest banyan tree on the premises. They had turned to a crisp.

I ran my eyes over the vast expanse of my school's backyard, and clutching the sheet of paper tighter than necessary, I walked closer to the tree that was standing guard at the eastern end of the three-hundred-year-old institute.

The tree with a gaping hole in its bark, approximately seven feet from its base, had probably swallowed a lot of secrets over the centuries and would continue to do so long after I was gone.

It didn't matter. I was here today.

I opened my palm and stared at the crumpled sheet that held my deepest, darkest secret.

"I killed my sister." It read.

I had written the words on it the night before while stifling a yawn and tucked it between the pages of my maths notebook.

The tree was famously referred to as the treasure-giving tree. Rumour had it that all one had to do, was write a secret and put it into the hole of the oldest tree in the school's backyard, and they would receive a treasure the next day.

Though the interpretation of what could be considered a treasure was debatable, many had vouched that it was not baseless, with some claiming that they had received good news while others were blessed with good luck. In some cases, the gains were reportedly monetary.

Not one to back out of a dare, I dropped my secret into the tree's gaping mouth and turned heel, wondering what treasure the tree might bestow upon me.

Night fell, and just like it had been happening since my sister, Kira, had breathed her last three years ago in this very room, sleep eluded me.
I got up the morning after, kissed my mother's cheek, and took the bus to school.

Lunchtime came and went. Nothing happened. Still, I kept my hopes up and decided to wait till the sunset.

I didn't have to wait that long.

Minutes before we were about to disperse for the day, I was called by the principal.

As I stepped inside the graying man's office, my mother's bloodshot eyes welcomed me.

I was in her arms not a moment later. "Josh is dead, son," she whispered between sobs.

Josh was my stepfather.

I returned the embrace, "How did it happen, mom?" I asked, willing my tears to flow.

They didn't.

Whatever. I would just have to fringe shock and disbelief. A cup of tea.

"A heart attack." She croaked and held me closer.

I clung to her without words while celebratory crackers went off in my heart.

Josh was the only one who knew my secret, and now he was gone...for good.

That night, I crawled into bed and welcomed my precious, my sleep.

A treasure, indeed.