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Morning light spilled through the tall windows of the school auditorium, casting long shadows across rows of tense faces. At the front, a great banner proclaimed REPUBLIC VOTE RESULTS, but the air was as heavy as a storm waiting to break. Emil sat near the exit, still as stone, while his grandfather lingered silently in the back row, watchful but unreadable.
When Principal Vance lifted the sealed envelope, the room seemed to lean toward him. His voice cut through the quiet.
“After a record turnout… your new Mock Parliament Leader, with fifty-four percent of the vote… is Lara Chen.”
The reaction split the room like a lightning strike. Lara’s supporters erupted—feet stomping, voices chanting her name as if it were a drumbeat for war. Across the aisle, the Environmental Club sat motionless. One girl quietly folded her “Unity Garden” sketch into a crumpled ball. A few undecided students exchanged uneasy glances, as though the ground beneath them had shifted.
Lara strode to the stage, her smile bright but edged with steel. She raised her hands, not to quiet the noise, but to harness it. “This isn’t my win—it’s yours!” she called. “You chose strength over weakness! Clarity over compromise!” Her eyes swept the room, pausing on Emil’s empty seat near the door. Then her voice sharpened. “To those who voted against us? You wanted a garden?” She laughed—a short, cutting sound. “Gardens are for dreamers. We live in the real world—where you uproot weeds or get choked by them.”
Outside, as if summoned by her words, rain began to lash the tall windows. The noise was relentless, a real storm pounding against the glass. Three students slipped out—Sam from the Environmental Club, Aisha who had stayed quiet through the campaign, and Mateo, once one of Lara’s own. They stopped at the edge of the courtyard, huddling around the Unity Garden project, now sagging under the weight of the downpour.
Emil moved toward them without a word. He shrugged off his hoodie and draped it over the soaked project, shielding what he could. It was a small act, almost invisible against the noise of the celebration inside, yet it drew the eyes of those who mattered most.
Back in the hall, Lara’s allies tore down the school’s Unity banner—rings interlocked in bright colors—and replaced it with her gold-sword emblem. She caught sight of Emil through the doorway. “Still playing gardener?” she shouted over the rain. “Save your pity—we’re building a fortress!”
Emil met her gaze but did not answer. Water seeped under the door, darkening the edges of her new banner until it sagged on the wall.
Beside him, Grandfather’s voice was a low rumble beneath the storm. “Fortresses keep people out. Gardens feed them. “ A beat. The old man’s eyes held the weight of seasons. “Remember which lasts.”
Emil turned—not toward the exit, but toward the greenhouse. Some things, he knew, were worth replanting, even in the rain.