"At least,
I must find the love of my life here,"
I thought to myself,
a hopeful grin tugging at the corners of my lips.
My eyes remained fixed on the stunning girls before me, their laughter and animated gestures like music to the bustling scenery of the campus.
I let my thoughts wander, imagining what it would be like to share moments with someone as radiant as them.
But as I took another step, lost in the haze of my daydreams,
my foot caught the edge of a block sticking out of the pavement.
"Ah, damn!"
I yelped as I stumbled forward, completely losing balance.
The world tilted, and before I could catch myself, I hit the ground with a thud, my bag sliding off my shoulder.
Embarrassment flooded my cheeks as laughter erupted around me from nearby students who had witnessed my graceless fall.
Just as I began to push myself off the ground, a shadow fell over me. A slim hand reached out to help, and I looked up, my eyes meeting the gaze of a girl.
For a split second, my heart skipped—not out of awe, but out of sheer surprise.
She wasn't like the dazzling beauties I had been admiring moments ago. Her features were plain, unpolished, and far from what I'd expected.
Her outfit, a simple and somewhat outdated floral dress, screamed
"local" in a sea of fashionable students. She had a slightly awkward smile, her kindness evident despite her shy demeanor.
"You okay?"
She asked, her voice soft but clear.
Her appearance even upset me, sparking a surge of determination to lift myself without her help.
I quickly brushed off the dust clinging to my jeans and bag.
"Are you okay?" she asked again, her voice tinged with concern.
"Yeah, I'm fine,"
I replied curtly, avoiding her gaze as I adjusted my bag. Without waiting for her response, I began walking away, eager to distance myself from the awkward encounter.
"I'm Nelly,"
She called out behind me, her tone hesitant, almost hopeful.
I didn't stop, barely glancing over my shoulder.
"Alright, thanks,"
I muttered, my voice dismissive.
For a moment, I thought I saw her face falter, her expression dimming slightly as if my cold response had left her embarrassed or even hurt.
But I didn't turn back. My focus was on putting as much distance as possible between us.
I headed straight to a nearby sit-out area, a shaded corner near the campus garden. The soft rustling of leaves and the faint chatter of students created a tranquil backdrop.
Dropping my bag onto the table, I slumped into the wooden bench and let out a heavy sigh.
I glanced down at my wristwatch—8:00 a.m. sharp. Still plenty of time before my first lecture, but the events of the morning had already left me mentally drained.
"Well, that's one way to start the day," I muttered to myself,
rubbing my temples. My thoughts flickered back to Nelly, her awkward smile and simple demeanor replaying in my mind. As much as I tried to brush it off, guilt began to creep in. She had only been trying to help, and I had treated her like a nuisance.
"Maybe I overreacted,"
I admitted under my breath, tapping my fingers against the table. But then again, she wasn't exactly what I'd been hoping to encounter on my first day here.
Looking around, my gaze landed on a group of students nearby, laughing and chatting like they didn't have a care in the world.
Some were already buried in textbooks, while others seemed more interested in catching up on weekend gossip.
I leaned back, crossed my arms, and let out another sigh.
"Guess I better get used to this place,"
I said,
eyeing the towering university buildings in the distance.
With its sprawling campus and vibrant atmosphere, Deck Mack University was a whole new world—one I wasn't entirely sure I was ready for.
Still, I couldn't shake the nagging thought that my less-than-stellar attitude toward Nelly wasn't the best way to kick off my journey here.
Maybe fate would give me a chance to make it right—or maybe I was overthinking it. Either way,
I resolved to shake off the awkwardness of the morning and focus on making the most of the day ahead.
After what felt like a brief moment of peace,
I glanced down at my wristwatch again. An hour had flown by in what seemed like seconds. The hands of the clock now pointed sharply at 9:00 a.m.
"Ah, crap, time's up," I muttered under my breath, springing to my feet.
"I gotta go."
As I quickly grabbed my bag, my eyes scanned the courtyard and spotted a stream of students heading toward the lecture halls.
Their chatter buzzed in the air, mingling with the crunch of hurried footsteps against the gravel paths.
Some walked in pairs, books clutched to their chests, while others strode alone, headphones plugged in and seemingly lost in their worlds.
I fell in line with the flow, my pace quickening to match theirs. The campus that had seemed so vast and tranquil an hour ago now pulsed with urgency and purpose.
Students streamed into the grand, arched doors of the university's various departments, splitting off into their respective lecture halls.
As I moved toward my class, I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and mild panic.
My first official lecture. The beginning of what could either be an exhilarating academic journey or a nerve-wracking disaster.
The hallways were alive with movement as I entered the main building. The scent of old books and fresh ink lingered in the air, mingling with the faint hum of an overhead projector from a nearby classroom. Some students hurriedly flipped through their notes, cramming in last-minute reviews, while others exchanged nervous smiles or confident nods.
"Alright, Alex,"
I murmured to myself, gripping the straps of my bag tighter.
"Time to make a decent impression."
I scanned the signs posted near the doors, searching for my assigned lecture room. My heart raced as I found it, the bold numbers printed on the frosted glass catching my eye.
Pushing the door open, I stepped inside. Rows of seats stretched out before me, filled with students settling in. A few glanced up at me briefly before returning their attention to their phones, notebooks, or whispered conversations.
I quickly slid into an empty seat near the middle, trying not to draw too much attention to myself.
The lecturer wasn't here yet, giving me a brief window to catch my breath and gather my thoughts.
"Alright,"
I muttered under my breath, leaning back in my chair.
"Here we go."
The room buzzed with a low murmur of voices and the occasional rustle of papers as I braced myself for the first lecture of the day, my mind already racing with anticipation and curiosity about what this journey would hold.
As I sat there, the hum of conversation around me filled the room. A few students were busy arranging their books and pens, while others chatted about random topics, ranging from assignments to last night's parties.
I leaned back slightly, taking in the classroom's surroundings. The walls were lined with charts and academic posters, each showcasing snippets of knowledge. There was a large whiteboard at the front, flanked by a mounted projector. The air smelled faintly of dry-erase markers and freshly polished wood.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and an air of seriousness swept over the room. The lecturer had arrived.
He was a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a sharp suit that made him look more like a CEO than a professor. His presence was commanding, and he had the kind of voice that carried across a room without much effort.
"Good morning, class," he said, his tone calm but firm.
"Good morning, sir," the class responded in unison, though some voices carried more enthusiasm than others.
The lecturer placed his briefcase on the desk and began unpacking.
He pulled out a laptop, some files, and a thick book that looked older than anyone in the room.
"Welcome to your first lecture in Advanced Creative Writing," he began.
"This course isn't just about putting words on paper.
It's about building worlds,
crafting compelling characters, and, most importantly, finding your voice as a writer."
Hearing that sent a jolt of excitement through me.
This was what I had been waiting for.
"As we go along,
I'll expect each of you to write weekly stories that will challenge your imagination and test your ability to engage a reader,"
he continued.
"And don't expect me to go easy on you. Great writing requires discipline and a willingness to face criticism head-on."
He glanced around the room,
his sharp eyes scanning each of us.
"If you're ready to embrace that, you're in the right place.
If not, well, the door is right there."
No one moved, but I could feel the tension in the room rise slightly.