When a dream Comes true

My name is Newt. I thought this year would be all about getting through my studies, maybe making a few friends along the way. People always tell me I've got a cute face, with my long black hair and black eyes, and I stand at 176 cm, which feels tall enough. My voice is deeper than most, though I don't really think about it much. I've never had a girlfriend—not that it bothered me. I figured life would just be classes, maybe some adventures with friends. But everything changed before I even knew it. What I thought would be a simple semester in the capital turned into something much bigger. It's not about studies anymore—it's about survival, destiny, and a path I never expected to take.

I came here to study, hoping to make something of myself. A fresh start. I've been here barely a month, and somehow, I've already settled into a routine. The neighborhood I live in is quiet, cozy even. Perfect for someone like me. Yet, it feels like I'm a ghost, drifting between classes and home, never really engaging with anyone beyond the walls of my apartment. I've seen my neighbors—brief glimpses when I first moved in—but I couldn't even tell you their names.

What I do know is this: rent is killing me. It's the elephant in the room, the problem I can't seem to escape. My parents gave me just enough to get settled, but I've nearly burned through it already. I tried picking up part-time work, but no one seems to want a guy without experience. It's a vicious cycle: can't get a job because I've never had one, and can't get experience because I can't land a job.

Today was supposed to be different. After classes, I met up with Simon, Oliver, and Steven—my friends from back home. Simon's the loud one, always talking like he's at a rock concert, while Oliver's the type who grins like he's in on a joke no one else knows. Steven... well, we used to call him the piggy bank. He's always had more money than the rest of us, never worrying about rent or bills since he lives with his uncle here.

We grabbed drinks, like we usually do. A way to relax, unwind. Maybe I let myself get a little too relaxed, because before I knew it, we were spilling our plans for the weekend.

"What's your plan for this weekend, Newt?" Simon practically shouted over the bar's noise.

I sighed. "I've got homework. And I still need to find a job. It's rough."

Steven laughed, flashing a roll of bills at me. "Come on, man, I could spot you. You need to chill out, rest with us. Lessons can wait."

Oliver grinned, leaning in. "There's gonna be a lot of girls. You're missing out."

That caught me off guard. Simon and Steven nodded in agreement, and I suddenly felt like I was standing on unfamiliar ground. We grew up together, and we used to hate this kind of talk. But now, it's like they've changed, shifted into something I don't recognize.

I forced a smile, hoping to keep things light. "You know me, I'm not into that stuff. I've got an assignment to finish, and it's not gonna do itself."

They kept pushing, but I was already halfway to the door, pulling on my jacket. "I need to get going anyway. It's been a long day."

As I stepped outside, the cool air hit me like a slap to the face. I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling. When did my friends change so much?

I walked down the familiar streets, my thoughts racing. I couldn't keep relying on Steven's money or waiting for some part-time job to fall into my lap. I had to figure something out, and fast.

As I passed the old bookstore near my apartment, something caught my eye. The display window was arranged perfectly, like an invitation to step inside and get lost among the shelves. I've always loved that place, the smell of old paper and leather bindings. There was a new book in the window, and it called to me. The temptation to buy it with the last bit of my money was overwhelming. Do I really need this right now?

Lost in thought, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going, and before I knew it, I collided with someone walking in the opposite direction. Books flew out of her hands, and we both stumbled. Instinctively, I reached out to stop her fall—somehow managing to grab her arm in time, steadying us both.

I bent down to pick up her books, handing them to her without looking up at first. When I did, I froze. She was young, about my age, with pale skin and jet-black hair that fell in soft curls to her shoulders. Her glasses framed delicate, almond-shaped eyes that were impossible to read. She didn't say anything, just took the books and continued on her way, like nothing had happened.

I stood there, watching her walk away. My mind was blank. Who was she? Why did my heart suddenly feel like it was racing for no reason?

Shaking my head, I turned and continued on my way home. By the time I reached my apartment, I had no memory of the walk back. I threw myself onto my bed, still thinking about the girl, my friends, my life... my lack of direction. Everything swirled together until, at some point, my thoughts dissolved into dreams.