Young Hearts -

Eli sat down on the step, close but not touching. He looked at the scuffed toes of his sneakers.

The rain had softened the gravel path into a muddy sponge. Eli kicked a stone into the long grass, watching it disappear. He was fourteen, an age that felt like a waiting room—too old for the sandbox, too young for the driver’s seat. His world was measured in summer afternoons that stretched like taffy and the sudden, breathless shock of a robin’s song. Young Hearts

Leo finally looked at him. His eyes were red-rimmed, but he nodded. Eli sat down on the step, close but not touching

“Hey.”

“I don’t know,” Eli said. But he wasn’t thinking about the afterlife. He was thinking about the warmth bleeding from Leo’s arm into his own. He was thinking about the word forever and how it suddenly didn’t seem too long. Eli kicked a stone into the long grass,

Eli turned his head. Leo was crying, silent tears tracking down his cheeks. But he was smiling too—a small, terrified, hopeful smile.