Chapter One

Monday;

I've always been more of a loner, the kind of person who prefers the company of silence over the chatter of crowds. In high school, I had one close friend—let's call her Anna. We used to spend lunch breaks together in the library, lost in our own worlds but comfortable in each other's quiet presence. But the day she moved away, we just... stopped talking. It was like she vanished, and so did that small, warm corner of my world.

Now, I'm in my final year of university, navigating crowded lecture halls and bustling campus walkways alone. I've never really clicked with anyone here, maybe because I don't fit into the usual scene. I don't drink or smoke—I can't stand the smell of cigarettes, the way the smoke clings to the air and turns my stomach. I've never set foot in a club; the thumping music and flashing lights feel more like a headache than a good time. Instead, I find solace in quieter places: the park, with its rustling trees and sun-dappled benches, or my home, where I can curl up with a book and lose myself in stories that don't require small talk or shared glances.

But I'm getting carried away with my thoughts, as I often do. I glanced at my watch and realised I'm running late. I need to get to campus—now.

.•° ✿ °•.

The wind rustled through the trees, sending a soft whisper of leaves fluttering in the air. I pulled my jacket tighter against the unexpected chill—a surprising reprieve from the usual summer heat. Ahead, a squirrel darted up a tree trunk, its tiny claws scratching against the bark as it chased another in a playful spiral. I couldn't help but smile at their carefree game, wishing for a moment that I could feel that lighthearted.

I suddenly remembered I had no clue which class I was supposed to be in first. I reached into the snug pocket of my worn-out jeans and pulled out my phone, its cold surface almost biting against my fingers. I unlocked it, scrolling through the sea of unread emails, my thumb flicking through endless subject lines until one finally caught my eye.

Mathematical Physics. Great. I couldn't think of a more daunting way to kick off my final year. I skimmed the email further and saw a list of unfamiliar names—professors I hadn't had before. New faces, new challenges. Just what I needed.

I let out a long, resigned sigh, sliding my phone back into my pocket as I continued my slow, reluctant walk toward the lecture hall. The campus stretched out before me, a maze of stone buildings and manicured lawns, all too familiar yet somehow different, like it was already starting to fade into a past I wasn't ready to face.

As I stepped into the lecture hall, I was met with the faint hum of students chatting and the soft shuffle of papers. I scanned the room, searching for an empty seat. The back rows were already crammed with bodies—hoodies up, laptops half-open, and feet casually propped on chairs. Typical. It's where everyone goes to zone out, scroll their phones, or sneak in a nap without catching the professor's eye.

With a quiet click of my tongue, I resigned myself to a spot in the middle row. Not ideal, but it was a decent compromise—far enough from the front to avoid unwanted attention but close enough to keep a low profile. I slipped into the hard, plastic chair, feeling it creak slightly under me, and slumped forward, resting my chin on my hand.

The room buzzed with low conversations and the occasional thud of a backpack hitting the floor, but my thoughts were already drifting elsewhere. After this lecture, I'd treat myself to a break at that new coffee shop just off campus. Midnight Mocha, or something like that. I'd only seen it once, tucked between a bookstore and a thrift shop, but it looked cozy enough—perfect for hiding out with a steaming mug of something strong and a good excuse not to be anywhere else.

A few minutes passed, and the room gradually fell into a hushed stillness. I blinked out of my daydream and looked up, my gaze settling on the woman standing at the front of the room. She was tall, with a confident posture and a friendly demeanor that made her presence instantly welcoming. Her shoulder-length hair was neatly styled, framing her face as she set her sleek black handbag on the desk with a gentle thud.

She turned to face us, her expression bright and warm, with a smile that seemed to reach her eyes, which sparkled under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights. "Good morning, everyone!" she said, her voice carrying a cheerful ring that filled the room. "I hope you all had a wonderful break and that you're ready for your final year!"

With practiced ease, she pulled open a drawer and retrieved a stack of neatly printed syllabi, the pages crisp and perfectly aligned. "This is the syllabus for the year," she continued as she moved between the rows, handing out the sheets one by one. "Everything you need to know is on this piece of paper—from assignments to tests."

When she reached my row, she handed me a sheet with a polite nod. I glanced down at the dense block of text, skimming over dates, grading rubrics, and topics that felt like a heavy load just waiting to drop. "If you have any questions, please feel free to ask me," she said, pausing near the front. Almost immediately, a few hands shot up, and she responded to each question with patience, her smile never wavering, as if she truly enjoyed the interaction.

Once every question had been answered and she was certain no one was left looking lost or confused, the professor clapped her hands together. "That's all for today. We'll get started tomorrow, so be ready." Relief washed over me. I didn't expect an easy start, but I was grateful for the extra time. This year had only just begun, and already the weight of it was pressing down. I'd threatened to drop out so many times over the past two years that it had become a running joke, but this time... this time it felt dangerously close to reality.

✿

Midnight Mocha. The café was small but inviting, with warm lighting and walls adorned with mismatched frames of vintage art. A soft buzz of conversation filled the air, mingling with the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee. I stepped inside and joined the line, about fifth in place. Ahead of me, two girls were at the counter, their voices low and excited as they chatted about their orders.

One of the girls, distracted by her friend's laughter, accidentally bumped into a taller, older woman who was waiting impatiently in line. The woman's face twisted into an irritated scowl, and she snapped, "Watch where you're going!" Her sharp words cut through the café's otherwise pleasant hum. The girl, stunned and red-faced, stammered an apology, but the woman didn't wait to hear it. She pushed past them, marching straight to the counter, her heels clicking loudly against the tiled floor.

The girl's friend quickly tugged her away, murmuring reassurances while guiding her to a corner table. I couldn't help but smile to myself, imagining how mortified I'd be if that had happened to me. It was the kind of awkward moment that sticks with you, replaying in your mind long after it's over.

When I reached the counter, I ordered a cappuccino from Ethan, the barista, whose cheerful smile and easygoing attitude only brightened my day even more. With my drink on the way, I chose an empty table near the window, where the morning light streamed in, casting soft shadows across the wooden floor. I sank into the chair, savoring the quiet murmur of the café and the faint clinking of cups and saucers behind me.

To pass the time, I pulled my current read from my bag—a well-worn paperback with creased pages and a fraying cover. I flipped it open to where I'd left off, the faint scent of old paper filling the air as I settled into the words.

Minutes ticked by, and I was pulled from my book by the sound of my name. "Valentina!" Ethan called, his voice carrying over the low chatter. I quickly marked my page, stood up, and made my way to the counter. I carefully picked up the cappuccino, feeling the warmth seep through the cup, and grabbed two packets of sugar before making my way back to my seat, careful not to spill a drop.

I settled back in, taking a tentative sip of the frothy coffee, enjoying the comforting bitterness mingled with the sweetness of the sugar. There was a quiet joy in these moments, the kind where time seemed to slow down, letting me disappear into the book as I turned page after page. I'd always loved reading, ever since my mom encouraged me to start young. I used to resent it, those long afternoons spent with books instead of friends, but over time, it became my greatest escape.

I couldn't help but think of her then—my mother, who I missed every day. She had died in a car accident when I was in high school, and after that, everything changed. My dad, once full of life and laughter, fell into a deep spiral of alcoholism. It consumed him, and though he never raised a hand to me, he wasn't the father I once knew. The vibrant man who had tucked me in at night and cheered at my school plays was gone, replaced by someone distant and broken.

Thankfully, my aunt stepped in, welcoming me with open arms when I needed it most. She filled the emptiness with love and stability, becoming the family I desperately needed. I loved her fiercely, grateful beyond words for everything she had done. She gave me a home when mine was lost, and for that, I would always be thankful.

✿

Sitting in my next lecture, my thoughts were a tangled mess, darting from one worry to the next. The room was unnervingly quiet, the only sounds were the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional cough breaking the silence. It was the kind of stillness that felt heavy, almost oppressive, and I couldn't help but wonder why everyone seemed so tense.

I glanced at the name scrawled on the whiteboard, Prof. Montgomery. I stared at it, my brow furrowed, trying to piece together why it felt so familiar, like a word on the tip of my tongue that refused to be spoken. My mind was racing, diving into memories and half-formed connections, but nothing quite clicked.

Lost in thought, I didn't notice the sharp clack of heels echoing off the tile floor or the jarring thud of a handbag being tossed onto the professor's desk. I snapped out of my daze at the sound of a clipped greeting: "Morning." My eyes shot up to the front of the room, landing on the woman who had just entered. She was older, with blonde-brown hair that fell just past her shoulders in loose waves, her expression sharp and no-nonsense.

Suddenly, it hit me. Montgomery. Of course. This was the professor everyone complained about, the one whose name always came up in whispered conversations and stressed-out rants. But as I watched her, standing there with her confident posture and cool demeanor, I couldn't quite see the monster everyone made her out to be. Could she really be as bad as they say?

She moved with brisk efficiency, rummaging through the desk drawer and pulling out a thick textbook. She flipped through the pages without looking up, her focus unwavering. "Open your books to page twenty-three," she instructed, her voice firm and authoritative. The room instantly sprang to life, students scrambling to get their books out and turn to the right page, the sudden flurry of movement contrasting sharply with the eerie calm from moments before.

A student in the front row hesitantly raised her hand, her movements slow and tentative, as if she already regretted it. Prof. Montgomery, who had been busy flipping through her book, glanced up with a sharp look, one eyebrow arched in mild annoyance.

The girl cleared her throat nervously, her voice barely above a whisper. "Um, aren't you going to introduce yourself? And shouldn't we go over the syllabus for this year?" The question hung in the air, and I could almost feel the tension ripple through the room. She must be new; anyone who'd been here before knew Prof. Montgomery had little patience for what she considered obvious or pointless questions.

Montgomery's eyes narrowed, and she let out an exasperated sigh. "Are you illiterate?" she snapped, her tone dripping with condescension. "My name is on the board. And this is your third year—you should already know how this works." Her words hit like a slap, cutting through the room's uneasy quiet.

The girl's face flushed bright red, and she quickly sank back into her seat, her shoulders hunched as if she wished she could disappear entirely. She stared down at her notebook, too embarrassed to look up, her fingers nervously twisting the edge of a page.

I shook my head quietly, feeling a mix of pity and disbelief. That was harsh, even for her. It was striking how different Montgomery was compared to the cheerful professor I had this morning. Where one offered warmth and encouragement, Montgomery was all sharp edges and cold detachment.

Prof. Montgomery wasted no time diving straight into the lesson, her voice crisp and confident as she outlined the complexities of today's topic. Despite her stern demeanor and the air of impatience she exuded, it was clear that she was an expert in her field. Her explanations were precise, breaking down difficult concepts into manageable pieces, and even though she moved quickly, she made sure to pause just long enough to ensure we were following along.

The class was tense at first, the students too wary to raise their hands. But after one brave student took the plunge and asked a question—and miraculously, Prof. Montgomery responded without her usual bite—others began to tentatively follow suit. As more questions were asked, her sharp edges seemed to soften just a bit, revealing a teacher who, beneath the prickly exterior, genuinely wanted us to understand.

After what felt like the longest hour of my life, she finally dismissed us. But just as everyone began packing up, she delivered one last blow, "We'll have a short quiz on this material on Thursday," she announced, her voice firm, leaving no room for complaints. The class groaned softly, but no one dared protest.

As I gathered my things, I couldn't help but think she was a good professor, despite her abrasive attitude. If I could just keep my head down and my mouth shut, maybe I could get through this year without incident.

But of course, fate had other plans. As I made my way toward the exit, I misjudged the distance between the steps, and before I knew it, I was tumbling down the stairs in a clumsy, chaotic mess. My bag slipped from my shoulder, spilling papers, pens, and notebooks in every direction.

I hit the floor with a loud thud, my face burning with embarrassment. From the corner of my eye, I saw Prof. Montgomery look up from her desk, her expression unchanged, watching me with the same bored indifference as if I were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. She stared at me for a moment, her eyes flicking over my disheveled state, then calmly returned to her work without saying a word.

Why, of all moments, did this have to happen right in front of her? My heart pounded as I scrambled to gather my scattered belongings, shoving them hastily into my bag without caring if anything was bent or misplaced. I just needed to get out of there, away from her judging eyes and the humiliating silence that hung in the room.

✿

Today was nothing short of dreadful, but honestly, what else could I have expected from being a third-year student? The workload, the pressure—it all came crashing down today, a brutal reminder of what lies ahead.

After the humiliating tumble in front of Prof. Montgomery, I needed a quiet place to gather myself, so I headed straight to the library. The faint scent of old books and the soft rustle of pages usually calmed me, but today even that felt heavy. I settled into a secluded corner and spread out my notes, determined to review the material from her lecture. I'm not typically one to dive into studying so early, but Montgomery's abrupt announcement of a quiz on Thursday left me no choice. The words blurred on the page as I tried to make sense of the equations and theories she had thrown at us.

Lab Skills was no different. We jumped straight into hands-on work, the sterile scent of chemicals lingering in the air as we moved from one task to the next with little guidance. By the end of the session, just as we were packing up, the professor dropped yet another bombshell: a quiz during our next class on Wednesday. I could practically feel the collective groan in the room, though no one dared voice their frustration.

It's only the beginning, and it already feels like an uphill battle. This year is going to be long and unforgiving, and I can only hope I'm up for the challenge. As I finally made it back to my room, I let out a long, exhausted sigh and collapsed onto my bed, the mattress sinking beneath me as if it, too, understood my weariness.

"May I survive this year," I muttered to myself, staring up at the ceiling. The weight of the days ahead pressed down on me, but there was no turning back now.