The Fifth Floor

Sol Winter (POV)**

The Watson Language Institute was bigger than I expected.

Tall glass walls. Bright lights. A soft buzz of conversations echoing through the lobby.

Everything felt too alive for someone who barely felt awake inside.

Griffen nudged me toward the elevator.

“Fifth floor,” he said. “Reception’s there.”

My legs felt stiff, like they weren’t ready to enter any new chapter of life.

The elevator doors closed, trapping me with my own thoughts.

Draven pressed the button and smiled at me.

“You’re doing great,” he said.

I didn’t feel great, but I nodded anyway.

When the elevator opened, warm yellow lights spilled into the hallway. The fifth floor felt different—quieter, calmer. Walls painted in soft colors, the smell of coffee somewhere nearby, and the sound of pages turning.

We walked toward the reception area, and before I could even take everything in, Griffen’s voice lit up.

“Mira! Yo! What’s up?”

A girl looked up from behind the counter—a bright, warm face with curious eyes.

Her smile widened when she recognized my brothers.

“Griffen? Draven? What are you two doing here?”

Then her gaze shifted to me, and she tilted her head.

“Is that… your little sister?”

I stood there awkwardly, clutching my bag strap so tightly my knuckles turned white.

“Yes,” Draven said, gently pushing me forward. “This is Sol.”

Mira Watson.

Her family ran this entire place, and yet she didn’t look intimidating at all.

She looked… kind.

Like someone who understood people without needing them to explain everything.

“Hi, Sol,” she said with a soft smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Your brothers adore you.”

I felt my cheeks warm.

“They do?” I asked, my voice smaller than I intended.

“Oh, absolutely,” she grinned.

Her eyes weren’t judging.

Just observing—curiously, gently.

For the first time in months, I didn’t feel like shrinking.

She led us inside a small office—warm lights, bookshelves filled with language materials, soft chairs.

“So,” Mira said, sliding a form toward me, “which language would you like to start with?”

She listed them one by one.

“French, Italian, Spanish… and German.”

My brothers watched me carefully, waiting for my choice.

But my mind had already stopped on one word.

German.

Something about it felt right.

Structured. Sharp edged.

A language that didn’t soften its sounds—much like the way I felt inside these days.

“I… I want to learn German,” I said quietly.

Mira’s smile brightened.

“Perfect. That’s one of my favorite courses here.”

She explained everything to me—how the course worked, the levels, the teachers, the schedule.

Her voice was calm and her words clear.

Not the fake, overly polite tone people use when they don’t care.

But genuine. Steady.

Like she actually wanted me to understand.

I found myself listening—actually listening.

When she talked, I didn’t feel small.

Or broken.

Or heavy.

I felt… like someone worth talking to.

“You can start tomorrow,” Mira said, handing me a small booklet. “Just try it. If it feels overwhelming, tell me. I’ll move your class or adjust things for you.”

Tomorrow.

That word felt sharp. Like a cold drop of water on warm skin.

“I… I don’t know if I’m ready,” I admitted.

She leaned slightly forward, her eyes softening.

“Sol, listen. Starting doesn’t mean finishing. It doesn’t mean pressure. Just come tomorrow. Give it a chance. If it doesn’t feel right, we fix it. Together, okay?”

Together.

No one had said that word to me in a long time.

“I’ll… try,” I whispered.

Her smile told me that was enough.

---

After we left her office and got back into the elevator, something inside me felt lighter. The weight in my chest wasn’t gone, but it had loosened—like a tight knot slowly beginning to unwind.

Griffen looked at me with a proud grin.

“See? Not that bad.”

Draven nudged my shoulder.

“Mira’s good, right? She makes people feel comfortable.”

I didn’t admit it aloud, but yes… she did.

When we reached home, I sat on my bed and opened the small booklet she gave me.

German alphabets. Basic phrases.

A new world waiting patiently for me.

For the first time in months, I felt a single breath of fresh air in my mind.

Soft.

Almost gentle.

Not happiness—

but something like the possibility of it.

And maybe… just maybe…

My story was already starting to shift in a direction I couldn’t yet understand.

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