The Secret of the Attic Room

Six years ago, when I had just become a university student, I saw a beautiful girl in the campus garden. At first, I had only happened to pass through the garden. It was somewhat hidden, far from the main campus buildings, and not many students went there. Perhaps that was why the place felt so peaceful. Several large trees shaded the old wooden benches, allowing sunlight to filter through only the gaps between the leaves.

On one of the benches, a girl sat alone, reading a book. She wore an oversized red sweater that seemed to suit her perfectly. Her hair was tied back simply, with a few strands falling across her forehead and framing her bright face. Beside her was a cup of coffee that she occasionally sipped without taking her eyes off the page she was reading. I didn't know why my gaze lingered on her for so long. Maybe it was because she looked different. Or maybe, without realizing it, that was when I began to notice her.

I also noticed something small about her. A pink handkerchief was tied to the strap of the tote bag she had placed beside her. It was simple. Yet somehow, that little object became the thing I remembered most easily about her.

I didn't know her name. I didn't even know what she was studying. There was only one thing I knew. I often saw her sitting in that garden. I called her Azalea. Not only because she often sat in the garden, but because that name was embroidered on her bag. And somehow, it suited her. She really did look like an azalea blooming on the peak of a mountain.

Day by day, I began to notice Azalea's habits. Sometimes she came early in the morning, sometimes closer to noon. She would sit on the same bench, carrying a different book each time, with a cup of coffee almost always beside her.

I began passing through that garden more often. At first, only once. Then twice. Before long, I deliberately started finding excuses to pass through the place. I always told myself that I just wanted to pass by. But in truth, I wanted to see her. And every time I saw her, that strange feeling returned. Restlessness. I didn't know what to do with that feeling.

A few times, I tried to gather the courage to approach her. In my mind, everything sounded so easy. I only had to walk toward her. Say hello. Ask her name. After that, maybe I could ask for her contact information. It was that simple. But reality was never as simple as I imagined.

Every time I got within a few steps of the bench, my legs suddenly felt heavy, my hands grew cold, and my heart began beating faster. Sometimes I even turned around before she noticed me. Idiot. I often cursed myself afterward.

Until one night, I decided I couldn't keep going like this. I had to tell her how I felt. That night, I sat at my desk for quite a while. A blank sheet of paper lay before me, while a pen rested between my fingers. I didn't know where to begin. I wrote one sentence. Erased it. Wrote another. Erased that one too. But eventually, I wrote a letter. Not because I didn't have a phone. I simply didn't have her contact information. I didn't even know her name. Still, a letter felt like the most sensible choice.

If this letter could become the beginning of my approaching her, I could ask her real name. After that, I could ask for her contact information. We could become friends. Maybe after becoming friends, everything would feel easier. Maybe we could become a couple. Who knew? I smiled to myself as I imagined it. At least in my mind, everything really was that simple. I folded the letter neatly. The next day, I kept it in my shirt pocket.

I was determined to give it to her that day. But when I arrived at the garden, the wooden bench was empty. I stopped a few steps away. The girl wasn't there. I looked around. Empty. Had she not come to campus today?

I waited. Five minutes. Ten minutes. I didn't even know how long I'd been standing there. Every now and then, I checked the time on my phone, then looked back toward the entrance to the garden. She didn't come. Disappointment slowly began to creep in. I let out a long breath. Maybe today simply wasn't the day.

Eventually, my thirst made me slowly head toward the cafeteria. Part of me still didn't want to leave the garden, but I had already been waiting too long. Honestly, I wasn't ready to give up. But for now, I supposed this was enough.

When I arrived at the cafeteria, I ordered a bottle of mineral water. After paying, I quickly picked up the bottle and turned to leave. I wanted to look at the garden one more time before going home. For some reason, I still hoped I might see her there. I walked while thinking about it, too absorbed in my own thoughts to notice that the backpack on my back had bumped into something. Several sheets of paper fell from a table.

“Hey!”

Someone's voice made me stop. Everyone around the table turned to look. I turned around too. Several sheets of paper covered in architectural sketches had fallen and scattered across the floor.

“Sorry.”

I hurriedly bent down. My face began to burn when I realized everyone was looking at me. I gathered the papers one by one in a hurry, without even having time to see what was on them. Once I had collected them all, I placed them back on the table.

“Sorry,” I said again.

Then I looked at the person sitting there. I froze. Azalea. The girl. The girl I'd been waiting for all this time. She was here. Not in the garden. Right in front of me. My heart immediately began pounding wildly. My hands started to tremble.

I wanted to say something, but before I could open my mouth, the stack of papers I'd just placed down shifted slightly. The corner of one of the papers bumped into the coffee glass on the table. The glass tilted. I instinctively bent down and reached out to catch it.

But I was too late. Coffee spilled right onto my shirt. I fell silent. For a few seconds, I could only stare at the brown stain spreading across the front of my shirt. Oh, my letter couldn't get wet! I pulled it out of my pocket. I no longer cared about my light blue shirt, which was now stained with coffee. The stain might become permanent.

Great. Just great. Of all the possibilities I'd imagined for speaking to her for the first time, not one of them had ended like this.

The girl immediately knelt in front of me. She took the pink handkerchief tied to her tote bag and began wiping the coffee from my shirt. Her movements were quick and slightly hurried. I was nervous, which only made me panic even more. I moved without daring to look at her face at all.

My hand accidentally touched hers. She immediately pulled her hand away. I was startled too. The handkerchief slipped from her hand and was now in mine.

She looked at me. Her expression seemed annoyed. I immediately handed the handkerchief back to her.

“Sorry.” I didn't know how many times I had repeated that word already.

It was the only word that could come out of my mouth. She didn't answer. She stood up, picked up her book and all her belongings from the table, and put them into her tote bag.

I was still standing there like an idiot. When she began hurrying away, I finally realized what was happening. I ran after her. But as soon as I stepped out of the cafeteria, I lost sight of her. I looked to the right. Nothing. To the left. Nothing there either. Several students walked past me, but not one of them was wearing anything like what I'd seen earlier.

I stopped. I was too late again. I looked down at my shirt, still stained with coffee. Then I realized something. The handkerchief. I was still holding it. She had left it behind. I gripped the pink handkerchief tightly. A handkerchief with a small embroidered design in the corner. An embroidery that read Azalea.

The next day, I spent the entire day looking for her. I'd already washed the handkerchief clean. I wanted to return it to her. And at the same time, I wanted to try talking to her again. This time, I couldn't fail.

I wandered around campus longer than usual. Finally, as I passed the garden, I saw a figure I knew very well. Azalea. She was sitting there, on that old wooden bench as usual. A book was in her hands. A cup of coffee sat beside her. I stopped. My heart began beating faster. My hand automatically reached for the pocket where I'd kept the handkerchief.

I took a breath and gathered my courage. Then I began walking toward her. One step. Two. Three. My legs began to tremble. I couldn't. No. I had to say it properly. I stopped a few steps away from her.

“Sorry,” I said.

She lifted her face from her book. She looked at me. Our eyes met. Damn. The trembling in my legs grew worse. I couldn't bring myself to step any closer. My hand gripped the handkerchief tightly until it became slightly wrinkled.

She looked at me for a few moments. Then she closed her book. I thought she was going to say something. Instead, she simply put the book into her bag. After that, she picked up her coffee and stood. She walked toward me. I became even more nervous. She stopped right in front of me. The faint scent of floral perfume reached me. I knew she was waiting for me to speak. But I could only lower my head.

“Just keep the handkerchief,” she said softly.

“Azalea...” I murmured softly.

“Yes?” she replied.

I fell silent. She only looked at me for a moment. I kept my head down. I couldn't bring myself to look at her from so close. Maybe she knew. Maybe she realized how nervous I was. But I hadn't come here only to return her handkerchief. There was something I wanted to tell her. Something I'd wanted to say again and again ever since I first saw her. That was exactly what made my throat even drier.

I opened my mouth. No sound came out. I tried again. Still nothing. She waited for a few more seconds. Then, finally, she turned around. She left. I just stood there, frozen, watching her back grow farther away. Only then did I realize it. Maybe another chance this close would never come. Call her! Now or never.

“Azalea...” I said her name softly.

But it was too late. Panicking, I immediately reached into my shirt pocket. The letter. I had the letter I'd written yesterday. If I couldn't speak, at least I wanted to give her the letter now.

My hand searched the front pocket. Empty. I checked the other pocket. Still empty. I froze. The letter was in the pocket of the shirt I'd been wearing yesterday. Damn. My shirt. My light blue shirt from yesterday was probably still soaking after getting stained with coffee. I covered my face for a moment. Why did everything always have to go like this?

Then I lifted my head. The girl was standing behind me. She had stopped a few steps away and was watching me.

She laughed. I didn't know why. Was she mocking me? Looking down on me? I didn't know. But her laughter came freely. So lightly. So easily. And strangely enough, that laughter stayed with me so strongly in my memory.

“Yes, my name is Azalea!” she said, waving her hand.

“Di-Dika,” I said softly, barely audible. “My name... is Andika...”

She smiled, turned around, and walked away. Even six years later, I still remembered her. Very clearly. The sweaters she often wore. The way she sat with her coffee beside her. The way she lowered her head, reading and holding her book. And the thing I could never forget most of all was the way she laughed.

“Dika!” Audi's voice called my name.

I startled. My thoughts of the past instantly vanished.

“Get the milk from the kitchen cabinet. I've run out of milk here!”

The sound of a baby crying came from the bedroom. Audi immediately began soothing him.

“Wait, Papa is getting your milk from the kitchen, sweetheart.”

Then she called me again.

“Dika, hurry...”

“Yeah,” I answered softly. I got up from my seat.

Yes. I was married now. I had married Audi two years ago, after finishing university. Then we moved to the Netherlands. And this year, we'd just had a cute baby. The house I lived in now was new as well. It was a house I'd designed together with Audi, according to what we'd both wanted all along.

Yet for some reason, that afternoon my thoughts returned to a small garden on campus. To an old wooden bench. A cup of coffee. And Azalea, the girl with the coffee and the handkerchief.

I took the milk from the kitchen cabinet and hurried toward the baby's room. As soon as I entered, Audi immediately took the milk from my hand.

“Took you long enough!”

“Sorry.”

I stood there watching Audi prepare the milk skillfully. Our baby was still crying. Every now and then, Audi gently patted his little body while soothing him. I actually wanted to help. But I didn't know what to do. I stood in the doorway. Perhaps for too long. Audi looked at me.

“Why are you still standing there?”

I didn't answer. I watched her. She was wearing a simple, loose dress that looked worn in places, but she seemed comfortable in it. Her hair was tied carelessly and looked messy. She turned toward me with a sarcastic expression.

“Go. Don't get in the way!”

I nodded. I slowly closed the door. Then I walked toward my study. My body felt tired. I sat in the chair, took a long breath, and opened a drawer. There were several old things I still kept there. And among them was one object that always caught my attention: the pink handkerchief, its color now slightly faded, with the name Azalea embroidered in the corner.

I picked it up. Six years. Six years since I first saw Azalea. Six years since I failed to tell her how I felt. Six years that had brought so many changes to my life: working, getting married, moving, having a child. And throughout all that time, I had still kept this handkerchief, without ever having the chance to tell her how I felt.

“Azalea, what kind of coffee do you like? What books do you often read? I miss you. I want to meet you again. I will tell you honestly how I feel about you,” I murmured.

I read the name embroidered in the corner of the handkerchief. I stared at it for quite a while. Back then, I thought that if I managed to give her the letter, everything would become easy. It didn't. That chance never came again. And now I'd already come a long way. Far from the university. Far from the garden. Far from the place where I used to see her. Yet somehow, the memories of Azalea were still kept somewhere I had never truly been able to leave.