The quiet Town

Chapter: 1 – Innocence of a Young Heart

Surrounded by green hills and deadly cliffs, the town lay in Mother Nature’s womb. Life thrived among trees and streams. It rained in November and sometimes washed the crops away. The land was wet. Green. Hungry.

The town was called Pine Field.

Four hundred people lived there. The school held state exams. Shops had grown around it—sweet shops, stationery stores, clinics, mini-marts. The town was small. It was resilient.

The baker’s family lived near the path that led to the next town. In front of the baker's house, across the muddy road, lay the school—hidden behind a hill, peeking at the baker's fresh donuts.

The baker’s daughter, Ursula, was seventeen. She ran late for school. A wildflower tucked in her hair, a piece of bread between her teeth.

Her mother called from the shop:

“Ursula child, don't forget to help your father during recess!”

“F-FINE!” Ursula cried. She waved at her father and sprinted across the mud. The baker waved back. The sweet aroma of bread lingered in her clothes.

Ursula climbed the stairs carved into the earth and walked through rooms strung in a chain until she reached the far east classroom. The hill ended there. A fence barred the cliff. She knocked on the door.

“May I come in, sir?”

The teacher gestured silently: Come inside.

The classroom was long and narrow. Desks in rows of four. Twenty were filled by children from the town and nearby villages. Ursula sat in the second row near the wall. She tucked her frock between her knees. She fidgeted with a pen, her mind drifting.

The teacher spoke of the economy. Ursula thought of the coming exam. Leaving town. Studying elsewhere. Traveling abroad.

A blur struck her forehead. Chalk spun on the floor.

The teacher smiled.

“It seems Miss Ursula has joined the daydreamers. Shall we focus on the book?”

Ursula’s face burned. She hid behind her books as laughter rippled around her. The teacher’s voice broke through, leaving silence in its wake.

At recess, Ursula returned home. The baker was busy with customers. Her mother fed the goats.

Ursula went to her room and fell on her bed. As soon as she hit the mattress, she sank into it. A fuzzy bed—a ticket to Wonderland. She fell asleep and dreamt.

Her Dream

A boy appeared—drenched in white royal silk robes, hair like pashmina silk dancing in the wind. Vibrant, glossy, glimmering.

He walked through summer clouds—a chivalrous knight in shining armor. Clouds clung to his feet like shadows, following their master.

He held her in his arms. She froze, stunned, playing possum.

A gentle breeze whispered through her ear:

“Sleep, my beauty.”

His voice was hushed, filled with sorrow as he turned away.

Light followed him, and the world shrank into darkness.

She chased him into a sunken void of nothingness—stumbling, falling, limping.

The darkness swallowed her whole.

She woke up—eyes heavy, hair wild.

Her mother scolded her for dozing off.

Her father shoved cake into her hands and rushed her back to school.

She inhaled it and jogged up the hill.

The Days Before the Exam

A month passed. Ursula buried under books, dreading the days ahead. The state exam was four days away. The town flooded with young adults—running wild, climbing hills, betting on bug fights.

Inns were full. Houses rented out. Streets swarmed.

Rumors spread of a haunted house by the riverside, west of town. Grey sky above, trees all around. A boy lived there—handsome, soft-spoken, in a ragged but clean uniform.

He bolted out the front door, locking it behind him. He muttered to himself:

“I’m so hungry.”

His stomach growled like thunder.

He trudged the muddy road, eyes darting left and right for food.

Stopped in front of the baker’s shop, feasting his eyes on the delicacies.

The shop was packed. The baker’s hands were full.

The boy stepped forward and said loudly:

“May I have a loaf of bread?”

“Just a minute. Ursula, come out and help me!” the baker called.

Ursula stepped out. The boy asked again. Ursula obliged.

She handed him the loaf.

The boy noticed her soft voice, her timid grace, her bright eyes.

He accidentally brushed her hand. Ursula didn’t notice—but the boy couldn’t forget.

On his way back, smiling ear to ear, native children pointed and whispered:

“That’s the boy from the haunted house.”

Bad luck, they said. But the smitten boy didn’t care.

He reached the old riverside house. Cheap rent, rumors be damned—he stayed.

Exam Day

Four days later, the school ground was swarming like ants around sugar.

Teachers stood on the small hill overlooking them—like statues of deities guiding the innocent.

“Students, today begins your graduation exam,” the headmaster announced.

Silence. Grass rustled. Wind howled.

“From today, you’ll be tested to see if you are fit to join society as adults. Please take it seriously. Anyone caught cheating will face dire consequences.”

Nervous glances. Pale faces.

The assembly ended.

Ursula sat in the first room after the headmaster’s office. The bench beside her was occupied by a boy—tall, skinny, good-looking in ragged clothes.

He noticed her. Nervously asked:

“You’re the baker’s daughter, aren’t you?”

Ursula smiled:

“Oh yes. Yes, I am.”

“My name’s Robin. I’m from the town over. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Robin. You’re from Fox Creek, are you? Heard it’s cold up there?”

The boy blushed, nodded, dreaming of her.

“How do you know me?” Ursula teased.

“The baker is the most famous person in town. Everyone knows him.”

“But how do you know me? Not my father.” She tilted her head.

“Ahh… u-um… four days ago, you sold me a loaf of bread.”

“Wow. And you remembered?”

“Y-yeah. I mean… how can someone forget you?” he thought out loud.

Ursula’s smile turned red. Her eyes glittered. She blushed like a child.

The boy realized what he said and hid behind his bag.

The teacher entered. Question papers in hand.

The exam began. Silence. Wind slipped through the back window. Pens scratched on rough white paper.

Ursula was calm. Head low, hair brushing the desk. Focused.

Beside her, Robin struggled—frantic, peeking over shoulders, drowning.

He whispered to Ursula for answers. She agreed—only after finishing her own.

The boy waited, impatient.

She finally showed her paper and started rechecking her answers.

Robin copied cautiously. She fidgeted with her pen. Dropped it.

Bent to grab it. Robin held the desk corner to shield her head.

She noticed the gesture.

Three hours later, the exam ended. The air was thick with joy, fear, and exhaustion.

Students spilled outside. Ursula and Robin stood together.

Robin mumbled thanks. Ursula smiled softly.

They went separate ways—Ursula running home, heart pounding, screaming into her pillow.

Robin trudged to the haunted house, the mud and river sounding like bliss.

He replayed the feel of shielding her head—heroic, magical.

The Day Before the Final Exam

Robin returned to the bakery. Ursula wasn’t there. Disappointed, he left.

Near the river, he saw her skipping stones. She waved. He waved back.

They sat together—silent, yet comfortable. Robin broke it:

“What do you wanna do? After graduation, I mean.”

She thought.

“I don’t know. Maybe study science or law? Maybe get married, have a family? Or go on a globetrotting adventure.” She smirked.

“That’s a lot of dreams.”

“I know. You only get one life. I wanna live every second. What about you?”

“I’ll go to the city. Study while working. My parents have debt to pay.”

She smiled gently. He laughed lightly.

“So you’re leaving tomorrow? Which city?”

“The Capital. Maybe.”

“Maybe I’ll study there too.” She stood.

“I’ll see you off tomorrow. Maybe we’ll meet in the capital.”

He stood too. “Sure. Sure. It’ll be my pleasure.”

They shook hands, parting with joy.

Above, clouds gathered—a storm creeping in.

The Storm

Next day. Rain hammered down. Roads slick, treacherous.

After the last exam, Ursula ran to see Robin off. He stood ready in his old raincoat—like a grim reaper out on a hunt.

Hiding behind her umbrella, she called goodbye. Heart heavy. Robin turned, paused, then walked up the steep path.

Ursula turned to leave—then stopped. Smiled wide.

“Robi—” she called.

The rain-slick road betrayed her.

Brakes screamed—then silence.

A motorcycle flew downhill, lost control, crashed into Ursula.

The impact cracked the rain’s rhythm.

Robin froze—shocked, pale, legs locked.

People swarmed. Shouts. Beep-beep. Phone dialing.

The biker lay dizzy, barely scratched.

Ursula lay trembling in the bloody mud.

Robin’s mind went blank. His vision tunneled. He heard everything, saw only her.

He took a step—but by then, they’d loaded her into a yellow ambulance with blue stripes.

Siren blaring. Blue light slicing through rain.

The baker’s family waited outside a red-lit operating room, counting endless seconds. Nurses hurried past, heels clicking on concrete.

The air reeked of phenyl and despair—a smell to die for.

Robin returned to Fox Creek that same day.

Nothing returned to normal.