The ceremony ground is filled with laughter. Speeches echo through the air, each voice carrying a different mix of excitement and sorrow. Now it's my turn to step onto the stage, to say goodbye, and to share a few good words.
As I walk forward, I catch the faces of my friends in the crowd. Some are smiling, some are overwhelmed by the thought of us parting ways, others buzz with excitement for the future, while a few wear nervous, uncertain looks.
When I reach the stage, a loud cheer erupts from my closest friends. Their voices echo across the ceremony, and I can't help but laugh. Regaining my composure, I glance at my mentor—the greatest person I've ever known. She treated us like her own children, teaching lessons that will carry us to the top.
Standing behind the podium, I look out at the sea of faces waiting for me to speak. My throat tightens, but I begin:
"When I first enrolled in this high school, I was nervous—anxious, even. But I was welcomed so warmly by the mentors that I quickly found my footing. And then I found Marcus. Yes, you heard me right—I found him, because he's the best thing that ever happened to me. A true gem. He's always been there for me, no matter what."
As I speak, Marcus wipes his eyes, his shoulders shaking, while our classmates laugh and tease him through his tears.
I continue, my voice breaking with emotion.
"After him, I met Layla. The boss girl—always the leader. She coached us, disciplined us, sometimes like an older sister… other times like a bully picking on the weak."
The crowd bursts into laughter. I glance at Layla, who's glaring at me, clearly plotting her revenge. My own laughter mixes with tears as I add:
"Jokes aside, she cared for us more than anyone. She carried our burdens as if they were her own."
I go on to recall more memories, share my gratitude, and speak about the future.
When I finally step down, diploma clutched so tightly it feels like I might tear it, I notice him. A student I've never gotten along with. He's staring at me—not like a peer, but like an investigator sizing up a criminal. His face is empty, expressionless. No smile, no frown. Just… watching.
The unease crawls under my skin. I lean toward my friends and whisper about him. They follow my gaze, but by the time they look, he's turned away, heading toward the side entrance of the building. That path leads to the second-floor classrooms and the restrooms.
I shake it off—just weird, I tell myself—and rejoin my friends. The ceremony ends. Teachers congratulate us, wishing us luck as we step into the future. Everyone crowds together for photos, laughter ringing through the fading afternoon.
As we line up for a group shot, I excuse myself. "Restroom," I mutter, already slipping away.
The staircase to the second floor is quiet. Too quiet. Everyone else is outside or on the ground floor. The silence follows me up each step. For a moment, I remember that strange student, but the thought fades quickly. My stomach twists—not with fear, but with urgency. I just need the restroom.
And yet… something feels off.