PART 3. Second first day
We returned to the college just before ten, the train screeching to a final, familiar stop under a sky the color of faded paper. We barely spoke as we gathered our bags from the platform and made our way down the narrow paths, back through the tall iron gates of P. College. The snow had not melted here. The same view greeted us: endless white, like ash spread across the grounds. The trees were bare, the benches wind-dusted, the air still sharp enough to sting the nose. Nothing had changed. Not the gray stone walls or the way the cold slipped under your collar. Even the lights in the hallways flickered the same way. We dragged our bags to our rooms without ceremony. No one said goodnight. There was only the soft sound of zippers opening and the occasional thud of boots being kicked off.
- Writer
