17
1007 Words
The weather turned again. The brightness of early spring gave way to heavier skies, a lingering chill in the mornings, and sudden bursts of rain in the afternoons. The city seemed restless beneath it, and so did the students of Étoilemont.
The second semester was drawing to a close. Conversations in the hallways grew shorter, laughter sharper, often replaced by hurried discussions about lectures, notes, or what might be on the exams.
The cafés that only weeks ago had been filled with chatter and leisure now carried a quieter energy—tables covered in open books, half-finished cups of coffee, pens scribbling fast as though time itself was slipping away.
Everyone could feel the change. The semester’s end wasn’t only about exams—it was the mark of how far they had come, and how quickly the year had passed.
---
The last assignment of the semester was finally behind them. At their quiet café, Baron and Appie lingered over coffee, neither in any hurry to leave. The table between them was scattered with papers, pens, and the empty remains of croissants.
Baron sat back, cup in hand, his other fingers moving almost absentmindedly in the air—shaping patterns, pressing invisible keys. It had become a habit, a quiet rhythm always there, as if music still lived in his hand.
Without realizing, Appie copied the motion, her fingers mirroring his dance on the air. When she caught herself, she laughed softly and leaned forward.
“Do you want to go somewhere this break?” she asked, the words light, as though she had been holding them back all day.
Baron lowered his hand, resting it on the table. “I have to go home,” he said simply.
Her smile faltered. The thought came too quickly, slipping past her guard. “Can I come?”
Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, she shook her head, pressing her lips together in apology, eyes dropping to her coffee.
Baron didn’t answer. Just looked at her, the silence stretching between them. Not heavy. But unbroken.
---
Their last meeting came and went without much fuss. Baron and Lea finished the assignment with little difficulty, their conversation brief and efficient. When the work was done, they stayed, neither in a hurry to leave.
The two sat across from each other, sipping their coffee in unspoken agreement, the silence easy—neither strained nor awkward, but steady, like background music neither of them needed to name.
When the cups were empty, they gathered their things. At the door, Lea glanced at him and said lightly, “See you next semester.”
The words hung between them, surprising her more than him. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, as though she hadn’t known she was going to say it until it slipped out.
Baron didn’t answer. His silence unreadable.
---
Cécile nearly bounced when Baron finally stopped by the bookstore. The place felt a little emptier without her father, but her enthusiasm filled the space like sunlight.
“You’re just in time,” she said, rushing over before he could even set his bag down. “I have a surprise for you.”
From beneath the counter, she produced three neatly wrapped books. “The best techno-horror novels I could find. I thought of you the moment I saw them. Perfect for the semester break.” Her eyes shone with anticipation, waiting for his reaction.
Baron looked down at the books, then back at her, and for once his composure cracked into a genuine smile. “I have something for you too.”
He placed two books in her hands. Two romance novels, worn around the edges but carefully chosen. “The most moving ones I could find.”
Her laugh rang out, warm and delighted. “Techno-horror for you, romance for me. That’s perfect.”
They laughed together, the sound of it soft but filling the quiet store, like a promise of friendship that didn’t need any more words.
---
The exams arrived with the usual hush that fell across the campus. The corridors, once full of chatter, now carried only the sound of hurried footsteps and the rustle of papers. Everyone seemed wound tight, shoulders tense, voices low.
Everyone except Baron.
He sat with his pen poised and his notes closed, calm in a way that drew attention. A few students glanced his way, whispering about how unbothered he looked, as though he had already seen the questions and solved them days ago.
Baron kept his expression still, but he noticed. He didn’t want to tell them the truth—that this was nothing compared to what he already knew. An exam in a classroom could never match the weight of those final minutes before stepping onto a stage, when the hall was full, the silence sharp, and all eyes waited for him to play the first note.
That was pressure. This was only paper and ink.
---
When the exams ended and the campus emptied, Baron stayed behind. He called home, his voice steady but soft, telling his parents he wasn’t coming.
“Why not?” his mother asked, concern threading her words. His father too leaned closer to the phone, waiting for an explanation.
But Baron had no answer. He simply said, “Not this time.”
Spring unfolded outside his windows. The streets filled with voices, the air hummed with music and laughter, the city spilling over with warmth after a long winter.
Baron sat with the windows open, letting the noise drift in—the chatter from the cafés below, the clatter of bicycles on the cobbles, the distant sound of someone playing guitar by the river.
Yet he remained inside. A book always in hand, a cup of coffee cooling on the table. The company of stories was enough, the silence of his flat wrapping around him like something familiar.
The world bloomed outside. He stayed where he was. And somehow, it was still the quietest two weeks of his life.
- Writer
