Our art professor, Mr. Donald, walked in, and the mumbling of students came to a sudden halt. Books were shut, heads turned, and all attention shifted to the front of the hall.
"Good morning, students," he greeted, unpacking his books from his suitcase.
His glasses were dragged low on the bridge of his nose, and his trouser were reaching up his belly.
Based on his expression, he might have had an argument with his wife or got in a fight with someone on the road or maybe just woke up on the wrong side of life altogether, which could only mean that another cruel, soul-wrecking project was on the way, and I already knew this deep in my bones because the last one had nearly broken me in halves and left me questioning not only my talent but also my will to remain enrolled in this course.
"Good morning, Mr. Donald," the class replied in unison.
"I see you've met your new course mate, Christopher," Mr. Donald smiled, signaling with his hands for Christopher to step forward. The whole class turned to look back at Christopher and traced his steps with their eyes until he reached the front of the hall, where he stood with his hands deeped in his pockets.
I could not help but admire the pure white long-sleeved shirt he wore, perfectly ironed without a single wrinkle in sight, paired with a green tie that matched the exact shade of his eyes, and for some stupid reason my brain decided this was the moment to glitch because why did he look like he just stepped out of one of those hyper-aesthetic studytok videos where everything is color coordinated, why do I suddenly care about the crispness of a shirt when I was literally fine five minutes ago and now my heart is doing that dumb skip thing.
This guy looked like he had walked straight out of a commercial.
His hair was slightly curly, his nose pointed, and his eyes, those damn green eyes. I had never meet a man with green eyes before.
"Hey, everyone. I'm Christopher, but you can call me Chris. I'm looking forward to getting to know all of you," he said with a deep manly voice.
And before he could finish talking, half the girls were already gossiping with blush cheeks.
He gave a forced smile and the whole class broke into high-pitched chatter, which made me roll my eyes.
Not that their screams were entirely without reason or not necessarily deserving. It was, but as common as it comes, they were doing too much. Christopher's looks alone could start a small fire, and I could admit that much without shame. All the gasping and giggling made it feel like some teenage concert instead of a university classroom. Yes, some of us were still teenagers, but we were at the late edge of walking into the room of our twenties, so that was not an excuse.
I half expected someone to start asking for his autograph or toss a love letter at him wrapped in glitter.
They acted like they had never seen a man in a tie before, and as odd as it sounds, no one had ever really dressed up like that in a suit kind of setting, looking so put together and formal that it felt like we should all straighten our backs and say yes sir whether we meant it or not. I could tell that some of them were probably already planning the color scheme for their imaginary wedding, including Mione, who was twirling strands of her hair around her fingers, staring at him with those annoyingly exaggerated blinking eyelids, and forcing her lips into some heart shape that was so ridiculously funny I nearly choked on my breath.
I could read the face of Christopher, and I could be sure he did not find that amusing. I could tell he was not impressed by their noise either. He looked like someone who was used to attention but not excited by it.
From the gossip I picked up around me, I heard he was already quite popular. Almost like the kind of life I used to live before everything fell apart.
He headed back to his seat, offering a small nod to everyone.
The class broke into chatter again like someone had turned up the volume.
"Quiet!" Mr. Donald yelled, cutting through through the noise and pulling everyone back to reality.
"Anyone who speaks out of turn will spend time outside the classroom," he warned, while writing the day's lecture on the digital board.
And fortunately for me, no project was given.
It saddens me that I still cannot seem to forget the fact that I was betrothed to that arrogant rabbit teeth guy. The one who came to visit with his parents, and if I remember correctly, it was about a year after my parents died. From the way his parents spoke, it was clear they were not really there to discuss anything romantic or sacred about the idea of marriage, and instead, they seemed more interested in sniffing around for financial opportunities like they thought they had just discovered a hidden treasure chest. What they did not know was that I was just a broke girl surviving entirely on my grandma's pension money, which covered both feeding and necessities, but not impressing marriage-minded opportunists.
If I could remember clearly, I did look a little hideous that day. What made it even worse was that I was reacting to cherry butter. My face had puffed up from the allergy, and it was all just a complete mess.
The moment they left, I giggled to myself and hoped he had changed his mind about whatever ancient betrothal law was tying us together.
Preferably by tearing the contract, burning the ashes, and throwing the remains into the nearest river.
*******
As the lunch bell rang, I gathered my things and made my way to the cafeteria.
I scanned the cafeteria, my eyes moving from table to table, hoping to catch a glimpse of Christopher. I just wanted to thank him properly. That was all. Not that I liked him or anything. My feelings did not come in like that, not with some sudden rush just because a guy helped me up and happened to look like a magazine cover. I was just being polite because that was what normal people did, they said thank you and they moved on with their day without getting flustered or remembering how someone's voice had sounded like it could read bedtime stories to puppies or recite wedding vows in churches with soft light and organ music and family members dabbing their eyes with tissues.
I mean, there was no harm in admiring a man. Thinking about it now, I realized I had never really admired one this much before, because I was not the kind of person who fell into silly daydreams just because a man had strong hands and a soft smile that reached his eyes, and if I was suddenly aware of my hair being frizzy or the ketchup stain on my sleeve then that was just coincidence, and if my pulse did a little thing like stutter or skip, well, that could be because of low blood sugar or something medical and definitely not romantic.
Besides, this was a cafeteria with bad soup and wobbly chairs and people who chewed too loud and it would be ridiculous to assign meaning to a moment that probably meant nothing to him at all, and even if he did smile at me, that could be his smile for everyone and I was not about to confuse basic human kindness with flirtation, because that way lay heartbreak and embarrassing diary entries and probably the purchase of scented candles I did not need.
I spotted him sitting at a corner table, surrounded by a group of curious students, and yeah I expected to see him in that kind of position because someone like Christopher was bound to draw attention the way light pulls in moths.
I took a deep breath and walked in his direction, my steps slow or at least I hoped they looked that way from the outside, because inside I felt like a squirrel on espresso and I was trying so hard not to look like I had spent ten minutes in the bathroom mirror practicing how casual gratitude should sound when it was obviously powered by nerves, and one thousand percent wishful thinking.
Just as I was about to reach him, Mione stepped right into my path, cutting me off like she had been waiting for the perfect moment to disturb my pitiful entrance, and I honestly would not have been surprised if she had popped out of a floor tile.
And even though all I wanted to do was take two steps to the left and say excuse me and maybe just wave at Christopher from a safe distance and pretend this whole thank-you mission had never existed, I could not move, not because Mione was physically blocking me but because I had turned into a very polite statue who was trying not to seem like she cared about any of this even though my stomach had developed its own personality.
"We need to talk," Mione said, avoiding my gaze.
"Talk about what? The next thing you'll be talking to is my fist. Now would you excuse me?" I snapped.
"Excuse you?" she hissed, furrowing her brow as she leaned in closer. Her words pushed through clenched teeth. "Since when did you have the balls to talk to me like that?"
"We're not in high school, sweetheart, grow up," I said, groaning through the heat in my chest, and even as the words left my mouth I knew they were coming from the part of me that always spoke two seconds before thinking and always managed to sound stronger than I actually felt.
I walked past her without another glance, heading straight to his table, still unaware that my face was red with anger, because when I get emotional my body always acts first and informs me second, which is such a annoying feature to live with especially in front of crowded people.
"Is there something you want to say? Did I do something wrong?" Chris asked.
It was in that moment I became fully aware that I was standing at his table with a scary angry frown, and all eyes were on me, including his, and I knew I should say something, I knew I had come here with actual words and a reason and a plan, but all of that collapsed inside me like a building made of matchsticks touched by a single careless spark.
I could not remember what I came here to say. All I could do was stand there, blinking like some frozen idiot, while he waited.
"The Professor wants you to come to the office this instant, I would walk you to his office," Mione interceded as she locked arms with him, and her voice came out sweet.
He pulled his arm free from Mione grasp and turned to me with a knitted brow, after a three seconds pause, he followed her.
But before I start playing the victim card, I was like a mute sea lion in front of him, It all on me.
I faked a smile and nod a greeting sigh at the students staring me, before going back to the library.
I pray I don't jam him in public places or anywhere aside the class room.
When classes were over, I decided to take a walk through the park facing my house. The colorful garden and the fallen dead leaves circling in the command of the winds made me want to sleep flat on the floor, so I could stare at the sky, guessing the form of clouds.
I fucking miss those days when it was me and my mum doing those cloud guessing games. But the headache pulsing in my head made me brush off that thought.
I sat down at an empty bench near the pond and trailed my eyes to the ducks as they floated across the water. My dad bought them for me after I told him how obsessed I was with learning about ducks. I could not stop my thoughts from drifting back to the evidence I received about my mother's death earlier today, and no matter how many times I turned it over in my mind, none of it made any sense. The whole thing felt off. Who just suddenly finds drugs in a car that had been parked and untouched for two years after declaring it void of drugs years ago? No matter how I looked at it, it seemed like someone had carefully set it up.
My dad might have been a drinker, yes, I can admit that, but not my mum. Never her. Neither of them ever touched drugs, and I had lived under their roof long enough to know when something was true or when it was just a lie someone wanted me to believe. This felt like a lie that someone needed me to accept without question.
I thought a search had already been done and they saw nothing.
Even though my father had not exactly failed as a father and had moments when he showed responsibility in that role, he had always been a terrible husband whose actions had haunted my mother so viciously that even now my mind would replay those moments like a cruel loop of suffering.
I could not hold back the tears that poured freely down my face, so I reached for Christopher's towel, which still smelled faintly of his cologne, even his towel smelled like a luxury perfume ad, and as I pressed the soft fabric to my cheeks I wondered if he had any idea that his scent had now been officially inducted into the list of things that could emotionally compromise me, right next to piano music and late-night overthinking sessions. Silly how I found myself sniffling into the towel of the boy who had I just met.
Christopher exuded an aura of wealth and success, while I was struggling to do things myself, always depending on Granny's money.
The sound of footsteps on the gravel path to my left broke my peaceful space, and before the person could reach close to my sitting point, I brightened my dull facial expression, then turned in that direction to find Christopher standing before me, I stopped breathing the moment our eyes met, and as if my lungs had filed for early retirement and my brain had turned into mush.
How did he find me here? My mind raced with questions. But before I could form a single word, he extended his hand, offering me my diary and locket.