The morning was calm.
Too calm, perhaps.
Abigail stood before the mirror in her room, her hands still damp, her neatly ironed clothes laid out on the bed. Her reflection stared back at her with the strange intensity one gives to someone they're not entirely sure they recognize. She drew a deep breath.
"New year… new beginning."
A smile tugged at her lips — a little forced, a little fragile. Then, like a mantra, she whispered to herself:
— You're going to smile. Eat. Laugh a little. Cry if you need to, but without drowning in it. You're going to allow yourself to heal. You won't cling to what hurts you anymore, not even in silence. You'll try… just that. Try to get better.
Her gaze fell to the letter resting on her desk, then rose again to her own reflection.
— And today, you give yourself a chance. Just one.
Later, at the university
— Abigail! a voice called behind her.
She turned just in time to see Jennifer sprinting toward her, her dreadlocks floating in the warm air. Without a second thought, Jennifer wrapped her in a tight hug.
— I swear I thought you'd transferred to another university. You didn't answer a single message all break!
— I was… surviving, Abigail said with a tired smile.
Jennifer pretended to faint dramatically.
— My God, what a drama queen!
They burst into laughter. Light, genuine. They walked side by side through the crowded hallway, talking about their vacations, the professors they hoped not to see again, the new courses they were already dreading.
— Tell me you've finally dropped the impossible guys, Jennifer said, chewing her gum loudly.
— I… I have no idea who you mean, Abigail replied, feigning innocence.
Jennifer raised an eyebrow.
— Let me guess… still in "will he walk out today at 2:10 from the staff building?" mode?
Abigail laughed softly, her gaze sliding away. They had just reached the old lecture hall. As if by instinct, Abigail moved toward the balcony. She didn't need to explain what she was looking for — her eyes immediately sought the other building, the discreet entrance near the teachers' prayer room.
Jennifer joined her, leaning on the railing.
— You really haven't let him go, huh?
— It's not that, Abigail murmured. It's just…
She shrugged faintly.
— I just want to know he's still there. That's all.
A silence settled over them, warm and heavy. Then, suddenly, the door opened.
He stepped out. Slowly. Calm as ever.
The same quiet footsteps, the same measured gestures. He wore a light shirt and the same crossbody bag. He hadn't changed.
But this time… he lifted his gaze.
Toward her.
Abigail's breath caught. She froze.
Did he know? Did he truly see her?
Her hands trembled slightly. She stepped back on instinct, hiding behind the wall.
Jennifer burst into laughter.
— Oh my God, you are hopeless!
Abigail, cheeks burning, slid down against the wall, a shy smile tugging at her lips.
— I know…
But deep inside, she was happy.
He was still there.
And for today, that was enough.
The soft hum of the air-conditioning filled the lecture hall.
The new building still smelled faintly of fresh concrete and old markers. Abigail had settled in with Jennifer near the edge of the middle row — far enough to observe the room without drawing too much attention. Their notebooks lay open, pens resting horizontally as if unsure they were ready to begin the year.
— I told you we'd get this professor, Jennifer whispered, elbow on the desk, head tilted.
They say he studied in France. Do you think he'll be as strict as everyone says?
Abigail shrugged, her gaze lingering on the whiteboard. She pretended to think, but her mind had already drifted far away. Her thoughts floated somewhere between the class and the look he had given her earlier — that suspended moment when their eyes had met, briefly. A window cracked open on a past she thought she'd closed.
— Abi?
— Hmm?
Jennifer was watching her with a knowing, amused smile.
— You were thinking about him again, weren't you?
Abigail looked away, grabbed her pen, pretended to write. She wanted to deny it, but her smile had already betrayed her long before she could speak.
The professor entered — tall, slender, wearing a pale shirt and square glasses. He greeted the class calmly, settled in, and began speaking in a steady, composed tone. Silence spread through the room.
Applied biology for nutrition. Basics, principles of absorption, digestion, essential nutrients.
Abigail followed… or tried to.
But suddenly, like a flash across still water, the image of Marcus's gaze resurfaced. That gaze lifted toward her that morning, as if he had sensed her. As if he knew.
Her cheeks warmed. A subtle shiver climbed her spine. She tried to focus on the professor's voice, but it drifted farther and farther away.
So she opened her notebook.
A new one, with a midnight-blue cover. The first pages still untouched. She hesitated, then wrote slowly:
> He's here.
He hasn't changed. Still that calm.
That way he has of existing without disturbing the air around him.
Just seeing him soothed me.
Just seeing him… scared me too.
What if he read it?
Her hand froze. Doubt pressed cruelly against her chest.
The notebook she had given him — at the end of last semester, in a moment of irrational impulse and desperate need to be seen — that notebook where she had written the unspeakable, the attachment, the admiration, the silences she could no longer bear…
What if he had read it?
She closed the notebook gently and pushed it aside. Her throat tightened.
— Are you going to cry? Jennifer whispered, a hint of worry in her voice.
Abigail smiled, shook her head.
— No… It's just strange. Seeing him again.
Jennifer nodded. She understood — at least, what she could understand.
The lecture went on. Words drifted like leaves in the wind.
And Abigail made herself a silent promise:
> I won't talk to him.
Not yet.
Not until my heart stops trembling.
But she already knew it was far too late for that.