"Birds remind us that freedom is not just a word; it's a boundless expanse of open skies, a canvas painted with the colors of endless possibilities."

Under the sprawling branches of an ancient oak tree, I sought solace amidst nature's grandeur. The gnarled limbs stretched out like weather-beaten sentinels, their bark etched with the tales of innumerable seasons. Once-vibrant leaves now pirouetted in a gentle breeze, painting a mosaic of ever-shifting shadows upon the earth.

The sun, a golden orb, dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm embrace over the park. Its radiant rays caressed the world, igniting the trees with a luminous aura, while the distant skyline metamorphosed into a dreamy silhouette.

Within this serene sanctuary, the avian orchestra performed its symphony. Birds of diverse plumage and character took to the skies, their wings choreographing a delicate ballet against the backdrop of an infinite cerulean canvas. They moved with an innate freedom, every wingbeat a testament to nature's boundless spirit.

How I envied those winged creatures, for they soared above earthly concerns, untouched by the weight of human existence. Their journeys knew no boundaries, no limits, only the boundless sky as their playground.

My gaze settled on a modest congregation of sparrows, darting amidst the towering sentinels of the park. Their wings, adorned with an intricate tapestry of feathers, fluttered with grace and determination. As they pursued one another through the labyrinthine branches, they epitomized a freedom so different from the life I led.

A lingering ache pulsed deep within my heart, a relentless reminder of the trials my family endured. My brothers, Kazuki and Yuji, older and wiser, stood as my unwavering support in the turbulent sea of our existence. They were my sanctuary, my confidants, and the pillars of my strength. Yet, within the confines of our home, we were prisoners, captives of a man meant to protect us but who had become the embodiment of our nightmares.

I closed my eyes, urging the shadows of those haunting memories to recede. Today, my aim was to seek refuge from the oppressive atmosphere that clung to our household, where fear remained an unrelenting companion. The park had evolved into my sanctuary—an oasis of serenity—where I could briefly elude the chains of my reality.

My thoughts drifted back to the events of the past year, to the moments that had irreversibly reshaped our lives. Takashi's unfortunate accident had acted as an unexpected catalyst, unveiling emotions long suppressed. Under the sprawling canopy of the ancient oak tree, my senses aligned with the world around me, granting me a near-meditative clarity. Each rustling leaf contributed to the soothing symphony of nature, while the golden rays of sunlight painted a gentle, tender melody on my skin. This serenity had become my cherished refuge, a sanctuary from the dissonance of the external world.

However, the tranquility of my sanctuary shattered as a voice rang out, bearing a blend of exhaustion and unwavering determination. I turned to discover Takashi, a symbol of both resilience and vulnerability, his once athletic grace now eclipsed by the crutches he leaned upon. The stark contrast between his present condition and the vibrant boy I had known weighed heavily on my heart.

"Takashi," I greeted him with a warm smile, my heart swelling with a mix of relief and concern. "You're finally out of the hospital."

He nodded, and his gaze, once fixed on the horizon, now rested on Haruki. In those moments of unspoken connection, I could discern the depth of their emotions—the silent language that flowed between them. Haruki's cheeks flushed with a delicate shade of pink, a confession that required no words.

"I couldn't wait to escape that place," Takashi confessed with a wry grin, making an effort to conceal the physical discomfort that clung to him. "And I was especially eager to see all of you."

While he spoke, Haruki drew nearer, his admiration for Takashi now openly displayed. The secret they harbored was akin to a phantom, haunting every interaction, yet the undeniable connection between them gleamed like an ethereal thread.

"Haruki, you should've seen how restless he was in there," Yuki chimed in, joining our small gathering. His tone, usually laced with aloofness, now carried genuine concern. "He couldn't stand being cooped up."

I nodded in agreement, my sense of camaraderie with our injured friend deepening. "Guess it's not easy for someone as active as him."

Takashi chuckled softly, his eyes briefly locking onto Haruki's. "You have no idea."

The tension between them hung in the air, a current of emotions that crackled just beneath the surface. Haruki's smile remained reserved but held a fragile secret, one that danced in the depths of his eyes, like a well-kept treasure waiting to be unveiled.

Kenta, who had been lurking at the edge of our group, finally approached, though he retained his usual brooding exterior. However, there was a hint of genuine concern lurking beneath his rugged demeanor. "Takashi, you sure you're okay? I mean, I didn't think you had it in you to be a hero."

Takashi's eyes shifted from Kenta to me, and in that fleeting moment, I glimpsed a vulnerability that was usually buried beneath his stoic facade. "I couldn't let anything happen to Haruki."

His words hung in the air, a confession that transcended mere friendship. I cast a sidelong glance at Haruki, who now wore an expression of silent gratitude. His fingers twitched with a longing, an unspoken desire to reach out and touch Takashi's hand, to bridge the divide that separated them. The love they shared was like a river flowing silently beneath the surface, unseen but profoundly felt.

Kenta's presence seemed to create a palpable rift within our circle. His aura was an odd blend of irritation and genuine concern, his posture rigid and defensive as if he were a sentinel guarding a treasure, or in this case, a secret.

Takashi's smile remained undeterred, a mix of amusement and an acknowledgment of Kenta's peculiar brand of protectiveness. "I promise, Kenta, no more daring rescues anytime soon."

Haruki, on the other hand, had retreated into a disconcerting silence. His usually vibrant presence had dimmed, and his gaze remained locked on the ground, as though the weight of Kenta's unspoken disapproval pressed down upon him.

The tension in the air was like a taut string, stretched thin and ready to snap. I exchanged a knowing glance with Yuki, whose eyebrows furrowed in confusion. We were both equally baffled by Kenta's behavior, a stark departure from his typical aloof demeanor.

Amidst the unease, our group held together, a testament to the bonds we had forged over the years. We had weathered storms of secrets and unspoken truths, creating a fragile tapestry of camaraderie that defied conventional definitions of friendship. Takashi and Haruki's love, concealed beneath layers of silence, was a complex narrative that begged to be told, but only when they were ready.

The words stung like a series of well-aimed blows, but I had grown accustomed to their cruelty. My father had long viewed my passion for writing as a joke, a frivolous endeavor that was beneath his expectations. To him, my dreams were nothing more than childish fantasies that held no place in the harsh reality he saw fit to create for me.

I couldn't meet his eyes, so I stared at the worn-out carpet beneath my feet, its patterns blurring into a muddled tapestry of despair. My shoulders slumped, burdened by the weight of his relentless anger.

"You should be studying something useful," he continued, his voice dripping with disdain. "Instead, you waste your time with those meaningless scribbles."

Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them away. Crying only seemed to fuel his rage, and I had learned long ago to bury my emotions deep within, where they could fester and grow like a festering wound.

My father's voice grew louder, each word a searing arrow aimed at my heart. "And what's this nonsense about you wanting to be a writer? You think that's a real job? It's a joke!"

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. His words cut deeper than any physical pain ever could. My passion for writing had always been my refuge, my way of escaping the harsh reality of our home, but to him, it was nothing but a source of mockery.

"I... I just enjoy writing," I stammered, my voice trembling as I tried to defend my dreams.

"Enjoy? Enjoy wasting your time on fairy tales while the rest of us work to put food on the table?" He sneered, his contemptuous gaze never leaving me.

I bit my lip, fighting back the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. I had always known that my father would never understand my love for writing, but his verbal abuse still cut deep.

The argument continued, his words lashing out like a relentless storm. Each insult, each derisive comment, chipped away at my self-esteem until I felt like nothing more than a broken doll discarded in a corner.

Hours passed, but the tirade showed no signs of ending. Eventually, I retreated to my room, desperate to escape the onslaught of verbal abuse. I locked the door behind me, the flimsy barrier a feeble defense against the turmoil that raged beyond.

Alone in the darkness, I huddled on my bed, clutching a notebook filled with my stories and dreams. It was my lifeline, a tangible representation of the passion that still burned within me, despite the darkness that threatened to extinguish it.

As I lay there, my father's voice still ringing in my ears, I couldn't help but long for the sanctuary of the park, the camaraderie of my friends, and the hope that one day, I could break free from the chains of abuse and pursue my dreams with unwavering determination. Until then, I would continue to endure, my writing serving as a silent testament to my resilience, my escape from a world that refused to understand.

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Hello everyone, I just wanted to thank you all for the love and support that was given to both Autumn and I, we're both very grateful.

What you've read is currently just a preview of the second book I can't say much yet we have A LOT in store for the second book. And I won't spoil it not because I don't want to, yet because Autumn won't let me. Stay safe lovely's.

Sincerely, M. P. Skowron II & A. Dalton
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