The first rays of the day gently caress the Rova of Manjakamiadana, gilding the stone walls of the imperial palace in contrast to the mist that floats parallel to its height. Light cascades downward. The temperature, however, rises slightly with each descent, allowing Amtsahabe to bask in the peak of a fully spring-like morning.
And so, in a lush garden where grass carpets a full hectare, present and at ease, a gardener lifts his eyes to the sky, awestruck by the sun reflecting off the pool. A gentle breeze lifts the fallen leaves from the trees he tends to, making them dance gracefully over the black roof of a 4x4. The car itself is parked outside, in front of the grand and imposing gate.
The residence standing at the center of the enclosure is built in the traditional gasigasy style, as they say. On the outside, the brick roof, first of all, arranged in warm orange hues, joins at the center. Then, the borders of the door and windows, as well as the corners connecting all sides to the roof and the upper floor, protrude slightly from the walls in a deliberately uneven manner. Not to mention the veranda—a classic feature of Malagasy houses. All of this is designed to highlight the house's splendor. The overall look is fairly simple, yet its originality is what makes it truly beautiful.
Inside, or more specifically in Miaro's room, the house breathes authenticity. Carved woodwork adorns the walls, and large paintings in warm hues evoke the landscapes of Madagascar. All the furniture in her room—the bed, the armchair, and even the desk—are designed in a medieval style, as if the owner still sees themselves as of noble blood, even though it's the contemporary era.
But yes, the one who sleeps in this room is a princess. No, I would even say a goddess.
And so, Miaro enters her room. She is our heroine, yes. She is dressed in a simple tracksuit, probably just out of the shower. Her jet-black hair is still damp, sticking to her shoulders. She slowly approaches the rosewood coffee table and looks at the letter resting on it. Her large black eyes narrow beneath her eyelids. She opens it, her fingers brushing the thick paper. A simple "have a good day" dedication is enough, with the formal seal of the Minister of Foreign Affairs... Miaro's little lip twitches slightly. It's like a "meh," but more formal. Miaro doesn't linger on it. She looks for her outfit in the wardrobe. Her one-meter-sixty-nine frame almost rivals the large wardrobe as she stretches to grab her school uniform. Once she finds the garment, she puts it on and checks herself in the mirror to see if it fits. The complete black attire matches her long black hair.
Then, Miaro descends. Even though she's discreet, her footsteps echo through the vast house like a hymn to the art of elegance itself. This catches the attention of her mother and a maid as they bustle about in the kitchen. Miaro passes by them, flashing a lovely smile. Her mother does the same to wish her a good day, while the maid remains frozen. She blushes.
And it's the same everywhere Miaro goes: everyone blushes. She walks through the garden, waves at the gardener, and he blushes. She was about to get into the 4x4, the driver opens the door for her, she thanks him, and the driver blushes shyly. The people outside, who are observing the scene between her and the driver, all blush too. I could have sworn that even the sun itself blushes for having cast its rays upon Miaro's delicate and carefully tended skin, but no one dares to look at it.
Soon, Miaro finds herself in the 4x4. The car winds its way through the upscale neighborhoods leading towards Mahamasina. To the left, the grand Barea Mahamasina stadium imposes its aesthetic architecture in the shape of a large Ravinala tree. It is the football stadium built to commemorate the Malagasy national football team after their qualification to the quarter-finals of the 2019 Africa Cup of Nations. To the right, the sculpture of the White Angel, signed "Anjely Fotsy." It commemorates the Malagasy who fought for France during the World Wars. It completes the beauty of the heart-shaped lake that sits at the heart of Antananarivo.
Despite all these wonders, Miaro remains indifferent, scrolling through her phone. She browses Instagram posts, just to kill time until they arrive. After all, traffic jams are also part of the identity of this beautiful city.
She finally arrives at the grand gates of the prestigious Lycée Moderne Ampefiloha (LMA). Indeed, this school is very selective. Although its ten to twenty second-year classes each contain around forty students, the grading scale remains very high. One must far exceed a twelve and a half out of twenty average on the BEPC exam. Otherwise, wealthy families resort to corruption to place their children among the best in Antananarivo. It must be said that LMA offers a very high quality of education, if not the best.
The car pulls into the school parking lot, but since the speech is taking place in the courtyard, everyone notices Miaro's arrival. Naturally, questions arise: "Who is she? ... Who owns this car? ... Wow, so this is how it is at LMA, huh? ...". And so on. Then, Miaro steps out of the car, immediately capturing the attention of the students present. In turn, the cheeks of her classmates turn red too. And we see all kinds of reactions. Most whisper in admiration in their corners. But of course, the envious glances don't disappear. The desire to win her over is already taking root in the hearts of the boys.
Miaro awkwardly walks towards the front where the speech podium is located. She has a slight smile on her lips to respond to the mountain of glances aimed at her. Then, a few of her friends from school greet her:
"Miaro! You never stop with the dramatic entrances, do you?" one of them teases Miaro."No, it's just the car.""How modest she is, too."
Then, the principal invites the students to line up.
"All students, please line up. The second-year students on my left, then the first-year students, and the final-year students on the far right. I expect the cooperation of the monitors to maintain order.""Well, girls, we have to follow the orders," says one of them. And the girls line up in the designated spot as instructed by the principal.
The principal of the school is a woman. On the first day, she mostly talks about the rules, but she doesn't linger on them too much. Instead, she spends more time showing the students the places they can access, trying to motivate them. But when she looks at the students' faces, it's clear that the senior students no longer have the energy to get excited. A good portion of the students in the front rows are very quiet. It's obvious that they already have the upcoming baccalaureate on their minds. Those in the back seem to be at school just for fun. Naturally, they make random comments about almost everything on the agenda. As for the first-year students, the conversation revolves around their summer vacation, the latest trends on social media, popular celebrities, new video games, TV series, movies, and anime… All typical topics for high school students. But this year, the vibe among the second-year students is different.
Usually, these second-year students are the most attentive to the principal's speech, but not this time. Miaro's presence is hard to ignore in the courtyard. Eyes are focused ahead, but everyone's thoughts are on her. The girls can't help but notice her impressive stature. Just her outfit speaks volumes about her upbringing and her social profile. She is formal, and not a single flaw can be found in her appearance — it's clear she stands out as the most beautiful on the field. The boys focus on her graceful posture. They imagine her delicate face, with her hair reaching down to her hips. In fact, her hair draws attention to her back. So, no one really dares to look directly at her. But it's obvious that she's the center of attention. She's practically a top model, rocking a high school uniform.
I think I've said enough about Miaro's image in the eyes of the public. I'm sure everyone gets how beautiful she is by now. It's exhausting, right? Honestly, I even find it a bit nauseating. Seriously, who does she think she is? Several girls in this row are thinking the same. So now, it's time to get to the heart of this story.
As you can probably guess, Miaro isn't comfortable with all of this. To be honest, it feels quite arrogant. But the reality is really different. Because when she stands up straight, she has to remember that society's standard doesn't appreciate women with slouched backs. And since everyone prefers enthusiastic women, she forces a smile. All of this should demonstrate how open she is, but it also shows that she deserves respect. She's friendly, but serious too; she's beautiful, but well-mannered as well. In short, she embodies the perfect image. Exactly as she was taught from a young age. And she will follow all these instructions because her father's name is on the line, her family's honor is at stake, and certainly her academic future for the next three years. So, she must remain formal, even if her legs and cheeks cramp; even if her spine might take a hit; even if her heart threatens to burst from the pressure of holding it all in.
Fortunately, the norm required her eyes to scan the crowd in a W shape, so to speak, to avoid any discrimination. But in this moment, she needed it to ignore everyone. This perfect method for gaining attention was also perfect for escaping it. Moving her eyes prevented her mind from overthinking or questioning the situation. Besides, the view could easily guide an immobile body, trapped, anywhere. That's how she managed to observe and understand everyone while passing them by. And that had always been the case. But remember, the title of this chapter was "New Beginning." And guess what? Miaro's new beginning was right here.
While Miaro's eyes seek refuge in the crowd, or rather, in the void, a particular figure catches her gaze like a tiny glimmer in the midst of the blinding floodlights. And as you may have guessed, it's the man in question. He is one of the central figures of our story. He is here. He was here. And Miaro sees him. He is neither too short nor too tall; he is average. He is neither ugly nor strikingly handsome to be remarkable. Even in the line, he positions himself in the middle, making him an ordinary guy, almost nonexistent.
And this absence is emphasized by the fact that his mind is completely elsewhere. His small eyes are fixed on the ground. Nearly shut, his eyelids allow only a total blackness to escape, like an empty expression from his pupil. He doesn't hear the principal, and Miaro doesn't exist for him. He is absorbed in his own bubble. Miaro could draw these conclusions by scrutinizing the dark circles under his eyes and the thinness of his facial muscles. For an average high school student, still in search of adventure and fun, his features are nothing noteworthy. It's no wonder no one notices him. But for Miaro, who is tired of happy faces, he is... Well, no one cares about him except Miaro. And everyone cares about Miaro except him.
We all know that feeling when someone is watching us from behind, right? And when we turn around, our eyes, almost magically, know exactly where that "who..." is? That's exactly what's happening here. And so, our Haintso locks eyes with Miaro, who has been observing him.
He observes her. She observes him. As if these two souls are reading each other.
The principal signals the end of the speech. Miaro is quickly surrounded, but she insists on looking at Haintso. Meanwhile, he... he starts such a smile at her, soft yet filled with an unspoken depth. His smile is more sincere. His beautiful teeth show a unique encouragement, loyal and friendly, always ready to help. But he doesn't linger for long. He fades into the crowd as Miaro seems still occupied. He left discreetly, like... a dream...
Like a dream… yes
"What a nightmare," Miaro says barely crossing the threshold of the door. Her legs finally ache after that long speech, after those long walks to visit the classrooms. She quickly throws herself onto the bed. She sneaks into social media. Then she looks at the schedule. But her mind is elsewhere. So much mystery revolves around the way Haintso... the way Haintso behaves as he does. At this very moment, Miaro still doesn't know his name. She doesn't know what class he's in. Whether he's good at studies or not. Whether her questions about him even make sense. She contentedly recalls the scene one last time before the soft evening light that illuminates her says goodbye. She sighs. She smiles. Then she says, "Youth is cute." with a melancholic face. A sarcastic phrase that emphasizes the irony of her fate. Her judgment is realistic and purely logical, but the reality is sad. Haintso remains just... like a dream, as we said.