Chapter 153 What Does This Truly Mean?
Chapter 153 What Does This Truly Mean?
Stephanie's POV
The cover bore rounded, childish lettering: Yasmin's Diary. Beside the words sat a tiny cartoon figure sketched in colored pencil.
I could tell instantly—this was absolutely Yasmin's work!
She'd always been gifted at drawing, even as a little kid. She could create all sorts of adorable cartoon characters.
My nose stung sharply. Afraid my tears would damage this precious diary, I quickly wiped the moisture from my eyes and, with trembling fingers, opened to the first page.
The first page contained only a few short lines, dated to a day over twenty years ago.
The handwriting was childish but neat: [Today Stephanie came over again. She wore a pink dress with little ruffles along the hem. When she twirled, the skirt lifted up like a blooming flower. I told her she looked pretty, and she smiled so sweetly, then pulled me into a spin with her. Elisa watched us and said we looked like two little butterflies flying around.]
The old memory instantly replayed vividly in my mind. I couldn't help but smile.
I still remembered—behind the orphanage playground, there used to be an open lawn where Yasmin and I loved to play.
At the far end of the lawn stood a small hill.
Looking back now, that hill was barely worth noticing, but to our young selves back then, it was an insurmountable mountain.
Yasmin used to point at that hill and ask me, "Stephanie, when will we ever be able to climb over that big mountain?"
I'd thought about it seriously for a long time before solemnly answering, "In ten years, when we're all grown up, we'll be able to do it."
I eventually reached my ten years. But she never got to see hers.
Fighting back the ache, I gently turned to the next page.
[Today Stephanie brought a piece of chocolate her mom gave her. She didn't want to finish it all, so she saved half for me. We hid under the big tree behind the playground and shared it secretly. She gave me the bigger piece and said she'd already had candy in the morning. I only took a tiny bite before pushing the rest back into her hand. She pretended to scold me for not listening, but then she smiled with her eyes all crinkled up. I love seeing her smile. I hope she can be this happy every day.]
[Today Stephanie took me to her house. Her mom baked sweet little cookies dusted with powdered sugar—they were so good. It was my first time sitting on such a soft couch, my first time seeing a room full of art books. Stephanie pulled them out to show me, pointing at the landscapes inside and saying she'd take me to visit all those places someday. I promised her right away. I said when I grow up, I'll take her to see the real ocean. She asked why I'd be the one taking her, instead of us going together. I said because I'm three months older than her, and even a little bit older still counts. She got mad, we argued for two minutes, and then we couldn't help laughing together.]
[Stephanie says she wants to be an artist when she grows up. I told her I'd open a gallery just for her paintings, and I wouldn't sell them to anyone no matter what. She laughed and said I'd starve to death. I said I wouldn't—I'd open a fish and chips shop next to the gallery. With art to look at and food to eat, we'd get tons of customers. She laughed so hard she doubled over, saying my business plan was shakier than the old shop owner's fryer. I got defensive and said we'd just go ask him for his recipe. We pinky-promised. Deal.]
I turned the pages slowly, one by one. Those fragmented everyday moments, buried and nearly forgotten by time, came back to life through Yasmin's childish handwriting.
I read quietly for a long time. Sunlight shifted from the left side of the eaves to the right. The old woman slipped into the room and quietly refilled the teapot.
I kept reading the diary, crying and laughing in turns. Occasionally, tears fell onto the pages, spreading into small, faint stains. I'd immediately wipe them away with the back of my hand, terrified of damaging the words she'd written.
But as soon as I wiped them clean, new tears would fall.
Christopher silently raised his hand, gently rubbing my back, staying beside me without a word, quietly soothing my emotions.
I didn't know how long I cried.
By the time I'd barely regained my composure and could see the words clearly again, the shadow of the old oak tree outside had been stretched long by the setting sun.
I took a deep breath, wiped away the lingering tears, and lowered my head to continue reading.
The first half of the diary was filled with our laughter and sweetness. But when I reached the two-thirds mark, the handwriting suddenly changed.
The once neat, rounded letters became messy and crooked, the spacing between words and lines chaotic. It was clear that the hand writing them was growing weaker and weaker.
The content of her words had completely changed too, now filled with oppressive phrases that had never appeared before.
Headaches. Joint pain. Aching knees. A stabbing pain in her back like needles.
I stared at those words, my fingers unconsciously tightening around the pages, my chest constricting painfully.
[Today the matron gave me medicine again. Little white pills, very bitter. After I took them, my head stopped hurting, but I got really sleepy. She made me lie down and rest, wouldn't let me go outside. I thought it was strange—she never used to give me medicine. She said it was to strengthen my body, that I was overthinking it, that I was too weak and needed to rest properly.]
[Took medicine again today. Afterward, I felt so dizzy I got nauseous after just two steps. Stephanie came looking for me, but I couldn't go out to see her. The matron told her I was sick and needed rest, told her not to bother me. I leaned against the windowsill and watched her sit on the playground steps waiting for me for the longest time. She must think I didn't want to see her on purpose. I wanted to call out to her, but my throat wouldn't make a sound. I'm sorry, Stephanie.]
My breathing suddenly quickened, my chest tightening painfully.
[Today the matron gave me a piece of candy to go with the pill, said eating the candy after the medicine would make it less bitter. I took the medicine like a good girl, but I got even sleepier than before. I had a really long dream where I turned into a little fish floating in the ocean, swimming and swimming, never able to find the shore. When I woke up, there was sudden, sharp pain between my legs, like something was tearing my body apart. I asked the matron what was wrong. She said I had a weak constitution and should avoid swimming at the beach from now on. She also told me to spend less time with Stephanie, said Stephanie has parents and her family wouldn't like her hanging around an orphan like me. I don't understand. Her parents are so nice, and Stephanie is so nice. I really don't want to lose my best friend.]
[My knees hurt again. This morning I couldn't stand steady and fell. The matron helped me up and said I was too thin and needed to eat more. But I have no appetite at all. I can't eat anything. I really want some of Stephanie's mom's soup. I really want Elisa's mashed potatoes again.]
[I looked in the mirror today. There are dark circles under my eyes, like I haven't slept in forever. But I've been so tired all the time, my eyelids feel so heavy, my head feels foggy. I asked the matron. She said I had too much on my mind and wasn't sleeping well. I don't know if that's true. I always feel like something's wrong. Lately I keep dreaming about water over and over.]
My hands trembled uncontrollably, my heart sinking bit by bit, an icy premonition wrapping tightly around me.
I frantically flipped forward, racing through to the last few pages. Here, the handwriting was barely legible, the strokes broken and uneven, many sentences left unfinished, cut off abruptly.
[The matron was really angry today. I accidentally asked the truth—I asked her if those pills were really for treating illness. Her expression went ice-cold in an instant. She was silent for a long time before saying it was all for my own good. She sat by my bed watching me for ages, said I was the smartest child in the orphanage, that she had high hopes for me, told me not to disappoint her. I wanted to nod in response, but my body wouldn't move at all.]
The final page held her last words: [The matron hasn't given me any medicine for two weeks now. My knees don't hurt anymore, and all the pain in my body is completely gone. These two weeks I've been sleeping so peacefully. I can finally go outside and play with Stephanie again! I miss her so much!]
I looked at the date.
That day was the day Yasmin died.
The old diary slipped from my trembling hands with a soft thud, falling to the floor. I shot to my feet, my entire body ice-cold, staring in disbelief.
"What... what does this mean?!"