Tristan, a slight seven-year-old with tousled brown hair, sits on the edge of his mattress, nervously twisting the hem of his pajama shirt. His sheets are damp once again, a problem that has haunted him each night. He glances anxiously at the closed door, dreading the footsteps he knows will soon approach.
Mom[/@ch_2] and Dad. Empty cereal bowls sit untouched on the table, the room heavy with disappointment.]
Mom stands with arms folded, her lips pressed thin. Dad paces nearby, frustration etched in every movement. "Tristan, we’ve talked about this. You need to learn," she says, voice sharp. "This is the only way you’ll remember," he adds, leading him away as Tristan silently endures the consequences, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Tristan sits isolated at the back, his cheeks burning as whispers float around him. Jake, a classmate with a mischievous grin, leans over and nudges a friend. "Did you see what Tristan’s wearing? Bet he’ll need it after lunch," he snickers. The laughter grows, and Tristan sinks farther into his seat, wishing to disappear.
Tristan[/@ch_1] feels only dread.]
Aunt Lisa catches sight of his awkward movements and raises her voice so everyone can hear. "Still having trouble, Tristan? Maybe you’ll grow out of it by college!" The room erupts in forced laughter. Tristan lowers his gaze, clutching a pillow tightly to his lap, his face burning with shame.
Tristan[/@ch_1] sits alone in his room, a diary open on his lap and a pen trembling in his hand.]
He pours his feelings onto the page, describing the hurt, confusion, and longing for understanding. Tristan dreams of a day when he won’t be defined by his struggles. "One day, I’ll show them I’m more than this," he whispers to the quiet room, determination flickering in his eyes.
Tristan, now twelve, stands at the window, watching rain clouds drift away. His struggles have lessened, and with them, the nightly punishments and ridicule. He smiles faintly, knowing he’s stronger for all he’s endured, and hopeful that the world will come to see it too.
