Aiden lived in a city where the buildings stretched up like giant broccoli, all shiny and green under the glow of floating streetlights. The air smelled like warm popcorn mixed with the tang of rain on hot pavement, and the sidewalks hummed with the *zzzt-zing* of hover-scooters weaving between pedestrians. His shoes—bright red with soles that squeaked like rubber ducks—were his favorite thing, even if they made him trip over his own feet sometimes.

One evening, as Aiden hurried home from school, his backpack jiggled with a secret. Inside, nestled between his lunchbox (which still smelled faintly of peanut butter) and his math homework (crumpled like a used napkin), was a folded note. It was from Mira, the girl with curls as bouncy as springs and a laugh that sounded like wind chimes. *Meet me at the Skybridge after dinner*, it said. Aiden’s stomach did a flip-flop, like a pancake tossed too high. His fingers crinkled the note into a tiny ball before he smoothed it out again, his palms suddenly slick as melted butter.

"What if she wants to talk about… *feelings*?" Aiden muttered to his reflection in a puddle.

The puddle rippled, distorting his face into a wobbly grin. He kicked a pebble, and it skittered into a storm drain with a *plink-plonk*. The thought of saying the wrong thing made his tongue feel like a sock full of marbles. Back at home, he paced his room, knocking over a tower of toy robots (*clatter-crash!*) and stepping on his cat, Pixel, who yowled like a fire alarm and bolted under the bed.

Dinner was a disaster. His fork clattered against his plate (*ting-tang!*), and his little brother, Leo, kept giggling because Aiden’s face was as red as a stoplight. "You look like a tomato that’s about to explode," Leo said, spraying bits of mac and cheese. Aiden’s mom ruffled his hair—"You okay, champ?"—but he just nodded, his throat too tight to speak.

The Skybridge was a shimmering path between two skyscrapers, its floor made of glass so clear it felt like walking on air. Below, the city buzzed with neon signs flickering like fireflies (*bzzzt-pop!*), and the scent of caramelized sugar from a nearby food stall curled into Aiden’s nose. Mira was already there, swinging her legs over the edge, her sneakers leaving little scuff marks on the glass. She turned, and her smile was as bright as the hologram ads floating above them.

"You came!" she said. Aiden’s heart hammered like a drum in a parade. He opened his mouth—*nothing*. His hands fluttered like confused birds. Mira tilted her head. "I, uh… I wanted to ask if you…" Aiden’s brain short-circuited. *Say something! ANYTHING!* But all that came out was a squeak, like a mouse stepping on a whoopee cushion.

Mira burst out laughing—not mean, but like a bubbling brook. "You’re *adorable*," she said. Aiden’s ears burned. He wanted to melt into the glass and disappear. But then Mira reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, glowing orb. It pulsed with soft light, like a captured firefly. "This is a Feeling Finder," she explained. "It helps when words get stuck." She held it out, and Aiden hesitantly touched it. The orb warmed his fingers, and suddenly, images flickered in his mind: the cozy smell of his mom’s cookies, the *thwack* of a soccer ball hitting the net, the way Pixel purred when he scratched behind her ears.

"Oh," Aiden breathed. The orb glowed brighter. Mira grinned. "See? Feelings aren’t scary. They’re just… *there*. Like this city." She waved at the neon lights, the hum of traffic, the distant *whoosh* of a flying taxi. Aiden took a deep breath. The orb’s light reflected in his eyes, steady and sure. "I… I think you’re really cool," he blurted. The words tumbled out like marbles from a jar, but this time, they didn’t feel heavy. They felt *right*.

Mira’s grin widened. "Took you long enough," she teased. Aiden laughed, and the sound mingled with the city’s symphony—*vroom*, *ding*, *splash*—as they sat there, swinging their legs over the edge of the world, the Feeling Finder glowing softly between them like a promise.