SCARLET SOUL

Scarlet Soul The campus buzzed with life—groups of students laughing under old oak trees, sipping iced coffees, rushing between classes. Inside the art and literature department of Lincoln University, the poetry room was unusually quiet, except for the soft scratch of a broom across the wooden floor. Perry Zane, the janitor—tall, slouched, dusky-skinned, with sharp but weary eyes—moved silently, sweeping dust and paper scraps left behind by students. A poet at heart, born into the shadows of a society that only saw faces, never souls. While others dismissed him as invisible, Perry noticed everything. Especially her. Elena Martinez—a bold, radiant woman with caramel-toned skin, curly dark hair, and an aura of confidence that could silence a room. She was a literature major. She lived for books, for attention, and for validation. Perry had been quietly in love with her for months. Poetry Class — That Afternoon Professor Hampton leaned against his desk, nodding as a student finished reading a poem aloud. “I have something special for today,” Elena announced with a teasing smile, pulling out a crumpled note. “I found this in the hallway. No name. But it’s… haunting.” She cleared her throat and read: "She walks like summer, aches like December— A hurricane wrapped in silence, And I, the wind that whispers her name, Too quiet to be heard." Silence fell. Even the professor looked moved. “Beautiful,” he murmured. Perry, sweeping near the doorway, froze. His eyes softened, then dropped to the floor. That was his poem. He’d written it the night before. And slipped it anonymously into the poetry board. Elena, unaware, tucked it into her journal, smiling. That Night — Perry’s Apartment Small. Dim. Books stacked high on the floor. No art on the walls, only pages of half-finished verses pinned beside a flickering desk lamp. Perry sat at his desk, scribbling. His hand trembled. “I do not love her beauty. I love the way she doesn’t notice me. I love her ignorance of my existence— Because if she ever saw me… She might turn away.” He dropped the pen, rubbing his eyes. A knock at the door. It was Sam—tattooed arms, torn jeans, wild eyes. She leaned against the doorframe, holding a bottle of cheap wine. “You still ghosting the world, Zane?” she smirked. “I don’t haunt,” Perry replied. “I just… fade.” Sam came in without asking. She always did. They sat in silence, sharing sips, sharing loneliness. “I heard someone read your poem today,” she said suddenly. “In class.” Perry looked at her, startled. “Don’t worry,” she smirked. “No one knows it’s you. Except me.” “How?” “I know your sadness, Perry. It’s in every damn word.” She reached for his hand. Their fingers touched. A charge—raw, real, but unspoken. He pulled back. “She read it like it was hers,” he whispered. “Like I don’t exist.” Sam leaned closer. “She’s not the one, Perry. She sees the light, but not the fire.” Final Scene — Campus Walkway Elena laughed with a friend as she walked toward the dorms. Perry stood behind a tree, watching her—his shadow stretched long by the orange streetlight. She paused, sensing someone. Looked around. No one. Perry was already gone.