Anastasia

 🍋 𓍯𓂃𓏧

September 20th

The car ride to campus was filled with silence, my nerves twisting tighter with every passing mile. I Now, standing outside my dorm room with boxes in hand, I feel a wave of anxiety crash over me. I force myself to take a deep breath, my eyes scanning the unfamiliar hallway, hoping to find some comfort.

Mom was a few steps ahead, already busying herself in the tiny dorm kitchen. "Let's start by getting the essentials unpacked, okay?" she calls out, her voice calm and steady, a lifeline to my fraying nerves.

"Yeah, sure," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. My right hand instinctively moves to touch the end of my arm where my hand used to be. Even after a year, the sensation of loss was still so raw. I force myself to shake off the thoughts and focus on dragging my suitcase up to my room.

It took a few minutes to haul everything upstairs. When I got there, I took a moment to look around. The space was small, with plain white walls and a bed that looks more functional than comfortable. This is now my home. I unpack quickly, shoving clothes into drawers and hanging up a few hoodies, anything to keep my mind occupied.

"Mom, I'm coming down to help," I shout as I make my way back to the kitchen. Mom was already unpacking dishes and neatly arranging them in the cabinets.

"Thanks, sweetheart," she says with a warm smile. "We're almost done here."

I join her, unpacking cups and utensils. We worked in silence for a bit, the only sounds being the clinking of dishes and the hum of the mini-fridge.

"Mom, you don't have to do everything, you know," I say, half-joking, half-serious. She chuckles softly.

"I know, but it makes me feel useful," she replies. "Besides, it keeps me from worrying too much."

I nod, understanding what she meant. This whole university thing was a leap for both of us. We finish the kitchen in just a few more minutes, and I grab the last box to take back upstairs.

As I step into the hallway, a girl walks by, giving me a bright smile. "Hey!" she says, her voice cheerful. She must be one of my dorm mates. I manage to smile back, feeling a flicker of hope but still anxious . Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

After organizing my room and putting the last of my things in place, I turn to find Mom standing in the doorway. She looks at me with a mix of pride and worry, her eyes glistening just a bit. I walk over and give her a huge hug, burying my face in her shoulder.

"You've got this, An," she says, rubbing my back gently. "And remember, go out more, okay? Enough of staying indoors—it's not going to do you any good."

I pull back, nodding. My big, brown curls bobbing in the air as I did. "Maybe," I chuckle, a small smile tugging at my lips.

"If your Dad was here, he'd be so proud of you, sweetheart," she adds softly, her smile bittersweet.

I push my lips to the side, trying to return her smile, but a familiar guilt surges within me. If it wasn't for the accident last year, maybe he'd be here too, helping me unpack. This was his dream for me, and even though he wasn't here, I want to make him proud. I will.

"I know, Mom," I reply, my voice thick with emotion. "I'll make him proud. I promise."

She hugs me again, tighter this time, before stepping back. "Alright, I'll let you get settled. Sweetheart if you need anything call me alright." She smiles, blinking back her own tears.

"Thanks, Mom. For everything," I whisper, squeezing her hand as we walked out of the building together. I watch as she got into the car, waving one last time, and drives away.

I stand there for a moment longer, watching Mom's car disappear down the road. Standing there, I sigh and pull down the sleeves of my oversized hoodie. "Here we go," I mutter, trying to hype myself up for the semester ahead.

I take a shaky breath, trying to hold back the swirl of emotions clawing at my chest. Anxiety. Fear. The crushing weight of expectation.

"Okay, An," I whisper to myself, "you can do this." I turn on my heel and walk back inside, my steps echoing down the hallway.

The dorm was starting to come to life . Doors opening and closing followed by chattering as others unloaded their stuff, laughter spilling out from somewhere down the hall. I make my way back to my room, trying to avoid anyone else and definitely not to think too hard about the fact that all these people were strangers. They didn't know me, and they certainly didn't know about…my difference.

Once inside my room, I close the door and lean against it, closing my eyes. The nerves were coming back in full force, making my stomach twist. I glance over at the desk by the window, where I had propped up a framed picture of Dad. I walk over, running my fingers along the edge of the frame. His face stares back at me, his smile that constant source of comfort.

"Wish you were here, Dad," I murmur, feeling a lump form in my throat. "Please watch over me"

I wipe my eyes quickly, not wanting to let the sadness take over. This wasn't the time to cry although I feel like doing so . I'm all by myself now and I decide to distract myself by arranging the last of my things. Books on the shelf, notebooks and pens lined up neatly on the desk. I place a cozy blanket over the bed, tucking it in at the corners just like Mom had shown me when I was a kid.