Such a Fine, Sunny Day

Inspired by true events.

The paper in my hand feels damp, though it isn’t. Sweat pools in my palm, and the rough texture of the leaflet rubs against my skin, as if reminding me what’s at stake. The words printed on it feel heavier than ink, more dangerous than any weapon. They’re treason, rebellion, hope.

“Keep moving,” my brother Hans whispers beside me. His voice is taut, sharp. I nod but don’t speak. My throat is tight, and the hallway feels narrower than it should.

Our shoes click against the polished floor of the university. The sound bounces off the cold, empty walls, louder than it should be, echoing like accusations. The faint smell of chalk dust lingers, mingling with the metallic tang of fear in the back of my throat.

Hans motions toward the lecture hall. I push open the door, my breath catching as the hinges creak. Inside, rows of desks stand in neat, silent lines, waiting for the morning. I set a leaflet on the nearest desk, then another. Each movement feels deliberate, slow, as if the act itself defies the world around me.

Hans works quickly, his hands steady. He’s braver than I am—or better at hiding his fear. I wonder if he can hear my heart pounding, loud and erratic, threatening to betray us both.

I glance at the words on the page: “Isn’t it time someone stood up?” Yes, it is. But does it have to be us? I swallow a lump in my throat. If not me, then who?