The seasons seemed to blend together in chaos—autumn's breeze clashing with winter's chill, all under a haze of dust and mist that veiled the eight directions. The restless wind carried yellowing leaves, scattering them like fleeting memories of a passing season.
As I stepped out of the exam hall, I let out a deep, hot sigh, wiping the sweat off my face with the corner of my handkerchief. The final exam of my senior year was over. Today marked the end of high school exams—a milestone that left me feeling strangely light, as if a crushing burden had finally been lifted.
I didn't want to think about whether I'd passed or failed. That was for future me to worry about. "Let tomorrow's worries wait for tomorrow," I told myself with a shrug.
Being one of the first to leave the hall, I glanced around. The courtyard outside was still quiet, with only a handful of students scattered about—those like me who had rushed through their papers. Most were still inside, battling their nerves and scratching away at their answer sheets.
From where I stood, I could see into one of the side rooms. It was empty, save for a few students still hunched over their desks. I couldn't spot Ma Aye Phyu, though. She was the kind of person who wouldn't leave until the very last minute. I smiled to myself, imagining her furrowed brow and determined expression as she poured every ounce of effort into her answers.
By the time I reached the school's front gate, I spotted a few others who had beaten me out. Some leaned against walls, idly chatting, while others paced around, their faces betraying their anxious thoughts.
And yet, for me, the world suddenly felt... peaceful. Almost too quiet, as if time itself had slowed down. With the exams behind me, a strange sense of freedom began to creep in. For now, the future could wait. Today, I would just breathe.
The school gates were alive with murmurs and movement, but my focus was elsewhere. A teacher stood nearby, holding a test paper, his tone sharp as he questioned two students. They seemed locked in a spirited exchange, defending their answers as though their futures depended on it. Watching them, I felt a pang of unease—not because I envied their debate, but because it was a reminder of what was out of my hands now.
For me, the answers I had written were final. No erasing, no revising. The thought of dwelling on whether I got something wrong felt like a weight pressing down on my chest. If I let it, that weight would grow unbearable. So I chose to let it go. I'd done my best, poured every ounce of effort into those answers. Whether I passed or failed wasn't in my hands anymore—it rested with the examiner. And that was a truth I'd made peace with.
But today wasn't just about exams. There was something far more important pulling at my thoughts.
I had a plan. After the exam, I was meeting Ma Aye Phyu. We'd chosen a place ahead of time, one we both knew would be safe and away from the watchful eyes of others. This wasn't a casual arrangement—it was something that had kept me glancing at the clock all day, counting down the moments until I could leave.
There was a catch, though. We couldn't walk out together. If her family ever found out, there would be trouble—trouble neither of us could afford. So I'd leave first, blending into the stream of students heading home. She would follow later, slipping away unnoticed.
Our meeting spot was far from school, by the banks of the Dula Waddy River. It wasn't just a random location; it was a place that felt like ours. The kind of spot that, if you looked at it long enough, could make you believe the world was still a beautiful place.
The distance didn't bother me. When it comes to something—or someone—you truly want, the miles seem shorter, almost inconsequential. Whether it was a ten-minute walk or a trek across town, I would've made the journey without hesitation.
Because it wasn't just about the place. The riverbank itself was unremarkable to anyone else. But to me, it was sacred. It was where she would be. And that made it the most beautiful place in the world.