Chapter 1
It was a Monday. A day of beginnings, and endings too. The last page of my school life had already turned, and before me lay an empty chapter, waiting to be written in college halls. My heart, a restless flame, beat fast as I crossed the gates, clutching the thought that today I was no longer a schoolboy—I was stepping into something greater, something unknown.
My footsteps carried me into the library, where the admission process was being held. The scent of paper lingered in the air, quiet and heavy, like the silence of an old church. Behind the desk, the librarian adjusted her glasses, fixing me with a mild expression.
“Fill this form,” she instructed.
I nodded quickly, never one to seek conversation, and bent down to write. I filled each blank, each detail, as if confessing who I was to a book that would decide my future. When I placed it before the authority, they only said, “Wait for confirmation.”
And so I waited. Hands folded, heart steady—at least until the door opened again.
In that instant the quiet library shifted. It was as if spring itself had stepped in, scattering blossoms only I could see. My blood rushed through me in a rhythm faster than sense, faster than thought.
And then I saw her.
She walked inside, a figure neither dramatic nor announced, yet the air seemed different with her presence. She carried herself with an ease I did not have—brown eyes alive with curiosity, a smile soft, almost inevitable. My gaze caught her as though the world had sharpened into a single frame.
The teacher beckoned her forward.
“Please sign here,” they said.
Her hand paused, searching for a pen. Fate, mischievous and kind, chose that moment to intervene. The pen she needed…was already in mine.
She turned towards me, her voice quiet but clear.
“Can I borrow your pen?”
It was a simple request, one of those ordinary exchanges life is full of. But to me it was not ordinary; it was monumental. My breath caught, my throat tightened, and I felt my shyness—the walls I always lived behind—start to tremble. Without a word, I extended my hand and gave her the pen.
She smiled—a gesture as brief as a breeze yet strong enough to shake me.
I watched as she leaned over the book and signed her name. Curiosity burned within me. Before she had taken even a step away, I found myself peering at the register, as though the neat strokes of her handwriting were a secret meant for me.
Her name. I had found it. And yet… within minutes, my mind betrayed me. I forgot. The name faded like ink in rain, and panic uncoiled in me. What kind of fool forgets the name of the flower he has just discovered?
Fortune favored me again. For confirmation, the teacher called out her name aloud. This time, I carved it into my memory as if upon stone, refusing to let it escape.
She finished, handed my pen back into my trembling hand, and smiled once more before leaving the room. The hollow of her absence filled the library instantly.
A thought gnawed at me—I might never see her again. I didn’t know her class, her course, or her place in this college labyrinth. The hope that had flared inside me seemed almost foolish.
Still dazed, I completed my admission process, signed the final pages, and stepped outside with the weight of both triumph and loss. As I walked home, clutching my bag, I realized I was carrying more than a form and an admission slip. I was carrying her name. And with it, the fragile hope that destiny had not yet finished writing.
