The night before I turned thirteen, sleep refused to come no matter how hard I tried.
I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, watching shadows move slowly as the fan spun above me. The house was quiet except for the low murmur of my parents' voices drifting from the living room and the occasional sound of a car passing outside. Everything felt normal—too normal for a night everyone kept saying would change everything.
Tomorrow, I would officially be a teenager.
Thirteen.
People said it like it was magic. Like once the clock struck midnight, I'd suddenly understand myself better. Like I'd wake up confident, bold, and sure of where I belonged. But lying there in the dark, all I felt was nervous.
I hugged my pillow closer and sighed.
I still felt like the same Cherish I had always been—the girl who loved writing in her notebook, who thought too much before speaking, who felt awkward raising her hand in class even when she knew the answer. How could one birthday change all of that?
My phone buzzed softly beside me, breaking the silence. I picked it up and squinted at the screen.
Zara: Can't believe you'll be 13 tomorrow 😭
I smiled despite myself and typed back.
Me: I don't feel ready.
Almost immediately, three laughing emojis appeared.
Zara had been my best friend for as long as I could remember. She made growing up sound exciting—like crushes, changes, and new feelings were adventures waiting to happen. I wished I could see it that way too.
I locked my phone, then unlocked it again without thinking.
My contacts list appeared.
And there it was.
Roy.
I didn't know when his name had started standing out to me like that. He was just someone from school—someone who sat a few seats ahead of me in class, someone who spoke softly, someone who smiled in a way that made my chest feel warm and tight at the same time.
We barely talked.
Still, sometimes when I caught Roy looking at me, my heart would start racing for no reason I could explain. I always looked away too quickly, afraid he'd notice.
I told myself it didn't mean anything. That I was too young to think about things like crushes. But my finger hovered over his name longer than I meant it to before I locked my phone and placed it face down on the bed.
I rolled onto my side and stared at the wall.
Was this what turning thirteen meant? Feeling things I didn't understand yet? Standing on the edge of something new and not knowing whether to step forward or run the other way?
At school earlier that day, I'd noticed how everything seemed different already—the whispered conversations, the secret smiles, the way people suddenly cared more about who sat next to who. It felt like everyone was slowly changing, growing into versions of themselves I didn't recognize yet.
And tomorrow, I'd be part of that change.
The thought made my stomach twist.
I sat up and reached for my notebook on the bedside table. It was old and worn, filled with half-finished stories, doodles, and feelings I didn't know how to say out loud. Flipping to a blank page, I stared at it for a long moment before writing:
Things I'm afraid of about turning thirteen:
My pen hesitated, then moved.
Being left behind.
Changing too much.
Not changing enough.
I read the words over and over until my chest felt tight.
Slowly, I turned the page and wrote another heading.
Things I hope for:
This list took longer.
To be braver.
To understand myself better.
To feel like I belong.
I closed the notebook gently and placed it back on the table.
The room felt quieter after that, like I'd finally admitted something important—even if only to myself.
I lay back down, staring at the ceiling one last time.
"Please," I whispered into the darkness, my voice barely louder than my breath. "Let tomorrow be okay."
Tomorrow, I would turn thirteen.
And whether I was ready or not, everything was about to begin.