In Theory

Chapter 4: The Ghost in the Hallway

​Thursday morning arrived with a sky so clear it looked like polished glass, the kind of biting Toronto cold that made the historic stones of University College look even more regal. Elara was feeling fortified; the "soup and sleep" treatment of the previous day had worked wonders. She felt sharp, her mind no longer clouded by the dull ache of cramps, but rather focused on the three-page analysis of Beowulf due in her next seminar.

She only had few classes on thursdays. One on 18th century litetature and the other being the history of english language. Luckily for her, the afternoon class had been cancelled, leaving just the two hour class she was just about heading to.

​She was trekking across the quad, her boots crunching over a thin layer of salt and frozen slush, when she spotted them.

​Leo and Maya were huddled near the statue of Sir Daniel Wilson, clutching steaming cups of coffee as if their lives depended on the heat. Maya was warmly clothed, from head to toe, even with mittens and her hoodie pulled up, quietly breathing in the vapour from her coffee, with a smal smile as she listened to Leo, who spotted her a few steps away from them.

​"Elara! Over here!" Leo called out, waving a mitten-covered hand. "We’re debating the merits of the midterm prompts. Maya thinks Professor Higgins is going to throw us a curveball on the 'Grendel’s Mother' essay."

​"He always does," Elara said, joining them. The wind whipped at the wayward strands of hair across her face, and she tucked it back into her beanie. "He loves a subversion of the maternal archetype. If you don't mention the 'monstrous feminine,' you’re basically asking for a B-minus."

Elara met Maya first, the first week after fall break in secon year. Mara had taken in her hard copy of 'Little Women', worn from years and years of use, and sparked a conversation from that. She was introduced to Leo at a house party Maya hosted a few months after,and they had been friends since then. Although, she usually felt like a third wheel with all the tension between those two.

​"See?" Maya nudged Leo. "She gets it. Hey, are you coming to the JCR after? We’re going to do a collaborative brainstorm before our brains freeze solid."

​"I’d love to," Elara started, "but I’ve got a meeting in the Rotman building. Julian and I have to finalize the revenue for the project we're-"

the words died in her throat

​Walking toward them, looking like he had stepped out of a 2014 Tumblr post, was Simon. He was wearing the same corduroy jacket she’d spent three hours helping him pick out at a vintage shop on Queen Street West, and he was mid-sentence, gesturing wildly with a half-smoked cigarette to a girl walking beside him.

​The girl was pretty in a soft, ethereal way—the kind of girl who looked like she’d believe him when he said he was the reincarnation of a Romantic poet.

​"Oh, look," Leo muttered under his breath, stepping slightly to the side. "The King of Melancholy approaches."

Safe to say, Leo never really liked Simon. She couldn''t really blame him though, Simon always had an air or arrogance about him. They had split about five months ago, after she caught him with his tongue down another girl's throat. On their bed, at a party she planned for him.

​Elara felt a flicker of something in her chest, but to her surprise, it wasn't the sharp, jagged pain of a broken heart. It was just a dull, awkward thud of recognition. It was the feeling of seeing an old, slightly embarrassing high school photo of yourself. She wasn't hung up on him; she was just annoyed that he was occupying the same physical space as her this morning.

​Simon stopped. He couldn't exactly avoid them without making it a theatrical event, and Simon was nothing if not a fan of the theatrical.

​"Elara," he said, his voice dropping into that low, practiced rasp he used when he wanted to sound profound. "I didn't think I’d see you out of the library today. I thought you’d be buried under a mountain of dust and discarded metaphors."

​The girl beside him let out a tiny, forced giggle.

​Elara didn't flinch. She adjusted her grip on her coffee cup. "Actually, I’m quite fond of the library, Simon. It’s quiet. People there generally think before they speak. It’s a refreshing change of pace."

​Simon’s eyes flickered, a familiar spark of condescension lighting up. "I heard you’ve been spending time in the Rotman building. Trading the soul of the humanities for the cold, hard numbers of the business world? It seems a bit... pedestrian for someone of your talents."

​Elara felt Leo and Maya go still beside her. In the past, she might have tried to explain herself. She might have tried to prove to him that she was still "deep" and "artistic."

​But today, she thought about Julian. She thought about his dry humor, the way he respected her intellect without making it a competition, and how he’d researched oat milk acidity just to make sure her feelings weren't hurt. Not that she was inteested in Julian, but they were just so different.

​"It’s not 'trading,' Simon," Elara said, her voice remarkably calm. "It’s called being versatile. I’m learning that a well-placed spreadsheet can be just as impactful as a sonnet. Perhaps more so, since people actually pay attention to the spreadsheet."

​She offered him a small, polite smile—the kind you give a distant relative you don't particularly like. "Anyway, we’re on our way to class. Good luck with the... whatever it is you’re doing."

​She didn't wait for his response. She turned and began walking, her boots striking the pavement with a rhythmic, confident click.

​"Holy crap," Maya whispered, catching up to her. "El, that was iconic. You basically told him he was irrelevant without actually using the word."

​"He is irrelevant," Elara said, and as the words left her mouth, she realized she actually meant them. The ghost had been exorcised, not by a grand gesture, but by the simple realization that she had outgrown the room he occupied.

​They managed to get to class just few minutes before the lecturer arrived and then she delved into the world of 18th century literature.

***

After class, she declined the invite to the food court waved her goodbyes to Leo and Maya, heading to meet with Julian. Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

​From: Julian Thorne (12:25 PM)

I’ve secured a carrel on the second floor. It has a view of the street, so you can watch the 'real world' while we dismantle it. Also, you have an oat milk latte waitimg for you, because I didn't know what else to get you?

​Elara felt a genuine, bright smile break across her face.

​To: Julian Thorne (12:27 PM)

On my way, Mr. accountant. I’ve just finished a two hour class about dead poets. That latte might be the only thing that'll get me through.

​From: Julian Thorne (12:28 PM)

Wow! Choosing a latte over me. Well, the numbers are waiting. And so am I.

​As she rounded the corner toward the Rotman building, the memory of Simon faded into the background noise of the city. She wasn't looking back anymore. It was a relieving thought.