?

  Mira had been to plenty of meetings before, school clubs, activism groups, community projects, but none quite like this.

  The Global Youth Summit wasn’t just a gathering. It was a challenge: seventy students from thirty countries, selected for their academic excellence, social projects, or leadership potential, dropped into a shared campus and asked to design a program that addressed a real-world issue, no scripts, no instructors, just collaboration.

  Every team had two weeks to plan and execute a community-based initiative, and the top proposals would be pitched to a panel of international NGOs and youth investors.

  This wasn’t a simulation. It was practice for the world.

  The first time the seven of them sat down together, in a cramped, overheated conference room with mismatched chairs and a half-functioning fan, Mira had a sinking feeling this project would either collapse spectacularly or become the most exhilarating thing she’d ever done.

  “Okay, so we all agree on the core idea,” she began, trying to sound like a responsible leader. “A program to help underprivileged children integrate into their new communities. Language support, arts, and storytelling, ”

  “We should also get sponsorships,” Naomi interrupted, flipping through her planner. “I know some business executives who’d be interested. This could be a potential global campaign.”

  Elias, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, let out a skeptical sigh. “Let’s focus on making the event actually happen first before we turn it into some international PR stunt.”

  Naomi whispered. “Excuse me for thinking big.”

  Mira could already feel a headache forming. “Guys, ”

  “Anyway, I think we need a legal framework,” Elias continued, ignoring Naomi’s glare. “We’re dealing with kids in vulnerable situations. We can’t just parade them around for storytelling sessions without considering privacy laws.”

  “That’s why I should be in charge of the storytelling,” Camille said, tapping her pen against her notebook. “If we do it right, this could actually change how people see them. Not just ‘poor children who need help,’ but real people with real lives.”

  Val suddenly spoke up. “That’s great and all, but we should also do something useful. What if we teach them how to make their own natural paints? Art therapy, but sustainable.”

  Luca, reclining lazily in his chair, raised an eyebrow. “So, to summarize, we’re hosting a storytelling-art-law-business-charity event?” He grinned. “Sounds doable.”

  Mira groaned. “I swear, if any of you make this harder than it needs to be, ”

  “You mean like you?” Elias said dryly. “You’ve rewritten the proposal three times.”

  Naomi burst out laughing. “I like her. She’s as much of a control freak as I am.”

  Mira wanted to argue, but honestly? They weren’t wrong.

  ?

  Two weeks. That’s all they had to pull this thing together.

  Naomi worked her networking magic and, somehow, secured an event space and free catering. “See? Think big,” she said smugly, handing out flyers to the group.

  Mira, meanwhile, tried to coordinate a curriculum, only to find herself constantly arguing with Elias over the ethics of using refugee stories.

  “These are kids, Mira,” he said one evening after yet another meeting ran way too long. “We can’t just hand them a microphone and expect them to tell us their trauma.”

  “I know that,” she shot back. “That’s why I’m making sure they control the narrative. It’s not about making them relive anything, it’s about giving them power over their own stories.”

  Elias didn’t argue after that. Instead, he sat down and started helping her draft a framework that ensured every child had full consent and control over what they shared.

  Meanwhile, Val was running test sessions with natural dyes, half of which ended up staining Naomi’s designer handbag.

  “You owe me for this,” Naomi whined, holding up the ruined fabric.

  “I am paying you back,” Val said, completely unapologetic. “In the form of expanding your artistic horizons.”

  Camille, of course, documented the whole mess for the article she was writing.

  ?

  The day of the event, everything that could go wrong did.

  The shipment of art supplies arrived late, Naomi nearly got into a fight with the catering staff over missing food trays, and Luca’s borrowed projector refused to work until Elias hit it in just the right way.

  For a few minutes, it looked like everything would fall apart.

  Then, suddenly, Mira grabbed a brush, dipped it in one of Val’s homemade paints, and turned to the group of nervous kids watching them.

  “Who wants to paint me?” she asked.

  There was a beat of silence, then a five-year-old girl grabbed a brush and smacked bright red streaks across Mira’s cheek.

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  That was all it took.

  Soon, there was color everywhere, on the walls, on the tables, in Naomi’s hair (“This is worse than my handbag!”), and even on Elias, who somehow ended up with a blue handprint on his shirt.

  By the time the storytelling session started, the atmosphere had shifted. The kids were laughing. The volunteers were covered in paint. And when night fell, they all sat outside, watching Luca’s open-air movie screening while eating whatever food Naomi had managed to salvage.

  They were exhausted, stained with paint, and running on pure adrenaline, but they had pulled it off.

  For the first time, they weren’t just a group of ambitious teenagers thrown together for a project.

  They were friends.

  And none of them wanted this to end.

  ?

  A week later, Val floated an idea.

  “You know… we could do this again. Somewhere else. Maybe a village school or a refugee camp. We could volunteer and travel.”

  Camille leaned back. “I’d cover it. A series on young activists traveling the world? That’s a story.”

  Mira just smiled. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

  And just like that, a tradition was born.

  Every summer, no matter how busy life got, they found a way to meet up. Sometimes they were in a rainforest, helping replant trees. Other times, they were in a remote village, running education programs.

  They argued. They teased each other. They got way too competitive over stupid things, like who could carry the most water buckets (spoiler: Elias won).

  But through it all, they stayed together.

  And no matter where they ended up, it always started the same way.

  Mira, notebook in hand, looking at the impossible challenge ahead, saying:

  “Okay, so we all agree on the core idea…”

  And Naomi cutting in, smirking:

  “Think bigger.”

  ?

  The sun was warm but gentle, casting golden light over the vast green field next to the university's forest. A light breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the scent of fresh grass and the faint sweetness of spring flowers. Birds chirped in the distance, blending with the occasional laughter from the four friends lounging on a large checkered picnic mat.

  Mira stretched her legs, sighing in contentment as she leaned back on her elbows. “This is perfect. We should do this more often.”

  Luca smirked, flipping open a container filled with grilled skewers. “Finally, some appreciation for my brilliant idea. I told you guys a picnic would be a great break.”

  "Yeah, yeah, genius idea," Camille teased as she unpacked a neatly wrapped bento. "But I’m here for the food, not your self-praise.” She dramatically unwrapped a rice ball and took a bite. "Mmm… worth it."

  Mira snorted. “By the way, Elara’s dancing club is probably the most elite and terrifying group on campus. You don’t just ‘join’ it, you survive it.”

  Elara flipped her hair, smirking. “Excellence must be maintained, darling.”

  Mira chuckled. “You mean perfection must be maintained.”

  “Same thing.” Elara popped a piece of fruit into her mouth, completely unbothered.

  Luca gestured with her chopsticks. “Unlike your brutal clubs, my movie club is a place of peace. We watch films, discuss plots, and snack. No crying, no terror, just good cinema.”

  Camille raised an eyebrow. “Right. Except you guys argue over every single movie ending.”

  Luca huffed. “That’s called ‘intellectual discussion.’”

  Elara laughed, shaking her head. “So basically, chaos with popcorn.”

  A comfortable silence settled as they ate, the rustling trees providing a soothing backdrop. Mira exhaled, watching the clouds drift lazily. "I wish every day could be like this."

  Luca stretched his arms over his head. "Yeah, but then we’d get lazy and forget to be the intimidating, high-achieving students we are.”

  Mira tossed a grape at him, which he caught with ease. “For once, I wouldn’t mind that.”

  The group laughed, their voices blending with the wind, as the afternoon sun painted the sky in warm hues.

  “Alright,” Naomi said, popping a grape into her mouth. “We should make it official, our summer trip this year. We’re running out of time.”

  Luca, sprawled out on his back, hands behind his head, smirked. “Are we, though? I mean, we work best under pressure. Remember how we pulled off that first trip?”

  Mira groaned. “Don’t remind me. That was barely planned. Val threw the idea out there, and before I knew it, we were on a bus to a village in the middle of nowhere.”

  Val grinned, unbothered. “And it was amazing, wasn’t it?”

  “It was amazing,” Camille admitted, scrolling through her phone. “And for the record, my article about it is still getting hits. Apparently, people love stories about a group of ambitious teenagers saving the world.”

  Elias scoffed. “We didn’t save anything. We just, ”

  “Improved it?” Naomi cut in, smirking. “Made a real difference? Sounds like saving to me.”

  Elias rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

  Mira, resting her chin on her palm, let out a nostalgic sigh. “I still remember arriving there. The school was basically falling apart, cracked walls, missing roof tiles, barely any books in the library. And the kids were so excited just to have us there.”

  Luca laughed. “Excited? They treated me like a human jungle gym.”

  “Oh, please,” Naomi said. “You loved it.”

  Luca grinned. “Didn’t say I didn’t.”

  Val leaned forward. “That first week was tough though. Remember when we tried to paint the walls, and the kids kept sneaking in to ‘help’?”

  “Help?” Elias snorted. “They turned it into a color war. I had blue paint on my face for days.”

  Naomi smirked. “Because they liked you, obviously.”

  Elias looked horrified. “They attacked me.”

  Camille shrugged. “That’s basically the same thing with kids.”

  Mira laughed, shaking her head. “And then there was the night we stayed up fixing the library shelves, ”

  “Oh my God.” Naomi groaned. “That awful makeshift bookshelf we tried to build. It was practically held together by hope and desperation.”

  Luca snickered. “And duct tape. Lots of duct tape.”

  Val chuckled. “We really thought we were master carpenters. Meanwhile, the village carpenter just watched us struggle before finally stepping in to fix it properly.”

  Camille smirked. “And then I wrote a touching article about ‘the power of community and collaboration,’ completely ignoring the part where we almost destroyed a library.”

  “Honestly, the best part of that summer wasn’t even the work,” Mira said, looking up at the leaves above them. “It was those nights under the stars. Just us, talking about everything and nothing.”

  Elias nodded. “I remember Luca trying to convince us that if time travel existed, we would’ve already met our future selves by now.”

  Luca sat up. “And I stand by that. Think about it, ”

  “No,” Naomi cut him off. “We are not doing this again.”

  Camille laughed. “We really were just a bunch of overachieving teenagers trying to act like adults.”

  “And somehow,” Mira said, smiling, “we ended up actually doing something meaningful.”

  Silence fell over them for a moment, the kind of silence that was comfortable, filled with shared memories.

  Then Val stretched. “So… where are we going this summer?”

  Naomi pulled out a notepad, eyes gleaming. “Oh, I have ideas.”

  Mira sighed, but she was smiling. “Of course you do.”

  And just like that, another adventure was set in motion.

  ?