A Love Story

The day Bradley and his family left the Biodome was a moment that shook me deeply. I watched as they eased their boat down the ramp, passed through the airlock, and disappeared into the vast water. The small crowd that had gathered to see them off scattered quickly, as if nothing had happened.

Mom comforted Dad with a gentle pat on his arm. "We need to keep settling in higher ground," she whispered. "We have to keep pushing forward."

Dad rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I know you're right. But it's hard to believe the Biodome will be underwater in seven years. Everything is happening so fast."

He glanced at me, probably worried he had shared too much. But I was lost in my own world of heartbreak, watching Bradley, my best friend and secret crush, drift away.

Bradley and I were kindred spirits. We enjoyed deep conversations and laughed about the quirky things we noticed. While other kids found us boring, we didn't mind. When he left, I felt like I was losing my only connection to meaningful conversation and laughter.

I didn't see Bradley again until I turned twelve and joined my parents on a supply delivery trip. I was thrilled. Dad called it "seasonally," but when I asked what that meant, he looked uncomfortable, so I didn't press further.

Inside the Biodome, everything looked the same. I wondered about the seasons outside, especially when I noticed how plastic moved differently during storms and calm days. When I asked Mom if plastic had seasons, she paused before praising my unique perspective without really answering.

I couldn't wait to discuss this with Bradley. So, I noted it down in my notebook, marking off the days until I could see him again.

When the day arrived, I was ready before my parents. As we left the Biodome, I felt the thrill of adventure. Secretly, I wanted to touch the water, and I finally did. It was a serene moment amidst the chaos of the smog and storms above.

Reaching the mountain settlements was a relief. The settlers were always glad to see us, and I was eager to see Bradley. But our time together always felt too short.

Over the next two years, I grew stronger from helping with the boats and delivering supplies. I often wondered if Bradley thought about me too. Each visit, we caught up, shared our latest ideas, and I gave him the things he had asked for last time.

At night, I sometimes looked up at the Biodome's grid, wondering what Bradley's nights were like. Did he see stars above the smog?

As our visits approached, I grew nervous, fearing Bradley might not feel the same way about me. I kept myself busy with work and tried to push these thoughts aside.

On our next visit, Bradley looked different, more grown-up. When we were alone, he eagerly asked if I brought something for him. We ran off together to our secret spot, and I showed him the treasures I had collected.

Bradley's enthusiasm was muted, and he seemed distant. I tried to engage him in conversation, but he was preoccupied. Eventually, I left, feeling a mix of disappointment and confusion.

The next day, I decided not to push Bradley. Maybe we were just meant to be friends. As we prepared to leave, Bradley hugged me and whispered, "You make everything beautiful, Olivia."

He gave me a heart-shaped pendant he had made, and I was moved to tears. We promised to talk more next time.

Over the years, our visits became a game of saving up questions and ideas. We explored wild theories and grounded discussions about the world outside the Biodome.

As Bradley placed the pendant around my neck, I felt a lightness in my heart. Despite the uncertainty and the changes ahead, our bond remained strong. The distant rumble of thunder and flashes of lightning guided us home, a reminder of the adventures and questions that awaited us.