Chapter VI - Aurora
1366 Words
The first week of university has flown by faster than I expected.
I'm learning to keep up with the fast pace of the classes, and even though the material seems endless, I'm managing to stay afloat for now.
All in all, that gives me a certain satisfaction.
I could almost say that everything is going great... if it weren’t for my total inability to find my way around.
Without Alice as my human compass, I’d end up getting lost every time I have to change classrooms.
Apart from that, and the fact that I haven’t seen Thomas much... everything’s fine.
Every day I hope to bump into him in the hallways, and sometimes I catch myself looking for him — on the stairs from the first day, among the crowded tables in the cafeteria... anywhere there’s the slightest chance he might show up.
But nothing.
The campus is huge, sprawling. And with hundreds of students in their first year of medical school alone, the chances of running into him again are almost nil.
I only caught a glimpse of him one day, as I was running to catch the bus before it left.
He waved at me and gave me one of his wonderful smiles — then the doors closed right in front of me.
This morning, I’m allowing myself the luxury of calm.
I woke up early to help Sofia review before her test; now she’s already at school, Dad’s left for work, and it’s just me, Mom (still asleep), and... Bella, of course.
Silence is rare, especially in our house, and I savor it to the fullest.
The spoon stirring slowly in the cup, the smell of coffee, the warm crust of bread between my fingers — everything feels amplified without the usual buzz around me.
At least until Bella decides to jump on me, stretching across the table to lick the yogurt off the spoon.
«You're always the same,» I say, moving her to the chair next to me as she meows indignantly.
I sigh, then scrape some yogurt from the bottom of the cup and offer it to her on the aluminum lid.
Later, I won’t have a moment’s rest: classes until the afternoon and dance practice in the evening.
I have to prepare the group for The Nutcracker and the Mouse King by December.
I enjoy it, but I come home exhausted every time.
That’s why I’m taking a deep breath and enjoying this moment — my little pocket of peace before the chaos.
I’m about to bite into the last piece of bread with butter and jam when my phone vibrates on the table.
A photo of a leg in a cast appears on the screen, followed by a message from Alice:
—Yesterday I had an accident on my scooter :( I’m afraid you’ll have to face the torture of classes alone for a while.—
My breath catches in my throat.
After making sure she’s okay — no drama, just a cast — panic overwhelms me.
Alice won’t be there, my compass is out of commission, and that means if I don’t catch the bus before the usual time, I’ll have just ten minutes to find the classroom.
Ten. Minutes.
As if I ever get along with those maze-like corridors.
I drop the bread onto the plate, the jam sticking to my fingers.
I jump up, throw everything into the sink, and ignore the mess left on the table.
Mom will scold me tonight for my chaotic escape, but never mind.
Bag, phone, keys — quick mental check.
When I’m sure I have everything, I run out.
I reach the bus stop with my heart already in my throat, just in time to discover — to my horror — that the bus has already left.
I missed it by a hair.
I start to hyperventilate.
Okay. Calm down, Aurora. Calm down.
I take a deep breath, trying to mentally reconstruct the layout of the campus: the wings, the corridors, the sections.
I close my eyes and move my index finger in the air, tracing an imaginary map.
I must look like an i***t to anyone watching me from the outside, but it doesn’t matter because... the map!
I rummage through my bag and find it crumpled under my books and notebooks.
Thank God I didn’t throw it away.
I open it quickly, my sweaty hands slipping on the paper, and try to memorize the landmarks.
And then the surprise hits me: I can actually read it.
Of course, leaving aside the small detail that after five days of university, I should already know the way to the same classrooms by heart.
I can do this.
The next bus arrives on time, and when I get on, it almost feels like the day can still be salvaged.
As the bus speeds through the already crowded streets, I mentally review the route like a formula I’ve memorized.
When the doors open, I get off with a confidence I hardly recognize in myself and take the road that — I’m sure — will lead me straight to the biology classroom.
I recognize every turn.
Everything looks the same as usual, yet today I notice details I swear I’ve never seen before.
Maybe it’s just my heightened awareness... but yesterday that flowerbed had yellow kalanchoes.
Now they’re red.
I stop for a moment, just to make sure I’m not losing my mind.
No, I’m on the right route.
A few more meters and I’ll be there.
The display on my watch blinks at me: five minutes early.
A record.
A tiny, glorious record.
I stride forward — right, two lefts, right again.
And there it is: the door.
I rejoice inwardly at this achievement and quicken my pace with satisfaction.
The air flows smoothly until I’m just a few steps from the threshold.
The letters aren’t clear yet, but the shapes are enough: they don’t form a single word. There are two.
And that alone is enough to make my stomach drop.
I speed up, almost tripping in my haste to cover the distance — until I finally manage to read the two words that, right now, seem to me the ugliest in the universe: Private Law.
It can’t be. Damn it!
I was so convinced I could do it, so eager to prove myself, that like an i***t I got off at the previous stop.
And with these damn districts, it’s really impossible to tell: six identical, mirror-image wings, all facing the central garden.
I ignore the huge sign at the entrance to each sector — yes, the one with the name of the faculty in big bold letters.
This is not the time to beat myself up: I need a clear head to cross the campus.
I take a step forward, but when I look around, I realize I have no idea where to go.
I glance at my watch: just two minutes left.
I’m screwed.
I’ll never make it in time, even if I knew the route by heart.
And besides, who am I kidding?
A sigh escapes me, and with it, the will to keep running in circles.
The first class is already lost — there’s no point in rushing.
I might as well give myself a moment’s respite.
The gardens beckon me like a refuge.
The crisp winter air stings my cheeks, while the damp smell of earth mingles with the subtler scent of running water.
I walk along the deserted paths, guided by the murmur of the fountain at the center of the square.
In front of me, a marble bench welcomes me with its icy grip: the cold pierces through my jeans, seizes my legs, and climbs up to my bones.
The January frost is palpable. My lungs scratch with every deep breath, and my exhale disperses into small white clouds.
I take out my phone and, with frozen fingers, struggle to set an alarm half an hour earlier — a safety margin, in case I get lost again.
Then I open the book I always carry with me.
A few lines are all it takes for the world around me to fade away.
«Freshman.»
- Writer
