Transcript for:
Afeela's Journey of Self-Discovery

The Second Life Sakina K. Lalani ________________ Afeela Jenkins… Was a girl whose existence was sculpted by the elements and the environment around her, which she may even want to change in her mind, but she cannot. She was not innocent, nor was she any better than how society classifies individuals. She had a great number of other interests other than literature, which she enjoyed, and music, which she found solace in; they became to her both pursuits and an assurance from a world that was otherwise a total wreck. Ever since she could remember, mean commentaries and quarrels of family members hounded her because the ears of her parents are more daggers than voices. The fighting did not cease; it was, The calm before the storm, it was not rain without the storm; there would be calm after the storm of a different nature, but that was just before the other storm came. I imagine fear as a pet that has besieged Afeela; a too bracing sensation deep down in her soul. With every voice raised, every door slammed, every harsh word spoken... It chipped away at her strength, it eroded her resolve further. There she would be, sitting in some corner of the house, quiet and frozen, staring at a condition that she knew would be the enemy, and that was from the very people who should have loved and cared about her. The sight of her parents—surrounded by yet another possible conflict—would send a numbness to which she would struggle to make sense. She would have preferred a less vicious conclusion; fighting bare hands was bearable but the harsh words that were thrown around were too much and Afeela felt that pain in every blood that was in her. Afeela could not describe the type of pain that she felt. It was not something sharp that pierced her but neither was it distinct and short-lived. It was rather a pain that throbbed and refused to go away. She did not have a supervisor, no one to listen to her appease her fears; her exasperations. She called for help, but it got stuck in her throat. She was concerned that even if she managed to shout out, nobody would care. The day was November 28 and it was one of those easy and peaceful days that Afeela found herself seated in her room where it was solely quiet and devoid of human presence. The quietness was oddly dense, nevertheless she wanted to be fine and let it out so that no further urges would possess her. There was a crack in the heart, the pulse in the palm kept crossing and got to her palms, too, the body quivered in anxiety and overactivity most of the time, doing nothing to any of the thoughts. When she had taken psychology in school, she came across the works of Carl Jung and learned about the ‘Shadow Technique’. The shadow encompasses all the elements of ourselves that we intentionally do not show, that we suppress or hide from our conscious mind. In this case, the shadow work implies the recognition of these aspects, the confrontation, and the embracing of these aspects. That is, shadow work allows the person to accept such parts of themselves which they tend to bury and make them aware. She attempted to project the identity of her inner self from her high school days who was the most traumatized, perhaps, to connect with her, resolve her concerns and assist her to address her inner issues, with the hopes that she will finally do away with the anxiety and panic attacks that have plagued her. Similar to how one of those long jackets, parked in a corner of the room, makes it hard to adjust one’s inner self again. She managed to get into character and recalled all the compositions that little girl had suppressed. But it was too much for her frail little mind to handle. She was able to maintain calm as much as possible, and even then, she felt that dizzy spell creeping in along with another bang in her head that caused her to lose consciousness. An hour stretched for what felt like an eternity before she stirred awake, letting out a breath that was held hostage within her. A thousand indescribable emotions invaded her. The suffrage of her former self, the injury of her recent self and the suspense of the undisclosed. The gears of her brain worked agitatedly. Tina Was wanting to share these with someone, but there was no one she could pour these out to. Destined to fail, she reached for a pen and a sheet of paper that was put on the table just for her craft; and before any rational thought came to her, she confined herself to the task of writing, writing whatever she could. It came from the very core of her being, a flood of thoughts from deep within her being, unrestrained, unfiltered. Finally as the flood of thoughts – or words – stopped, she glanced at the sheet, and felt her heart race. What she had written was not just a written piece, it contained pieces of her from the deepest reach inside and it had been laid out for the first time. I keep guessing, what if I am still going through this? Eventually, it was my turn to see her. The girl… Who has the same vision of the world. Very far away, very far away, In a space that the eye cannot see. Though years have been gone, Her wounds are still my wounds. The pain has almost become like a stone, But it is still there as though it never existed. That was a mute surrender, She was behind the walls, Even the walloping beatings, And the crashing falls. It was something… I wanted to remember, I suppressed it, Only for it to rise up, Back to the surface where no one is present. Familiar pain revives, And fresh anxieties take root, The future and the history… Are both enmeshed in pursuit. Who am I at this point, And what is my position? My heart is banging and my hand is shaking, What is that? I attempted to confront her, I attempted to be courageous, And yet still I fall, and still I succumb. But of course it isn’t so. I am not without hope of her when the shadows fade, Perhaps, I will be able to muster the hope to keep her close. And in that moment, she comprehended something which could never ever reprimand her primitive musings and intricate emotions: the matter. The matter absorbed all her pain selflessly, and most importantly without any reorientation as the people around her would do. It shared an understanding of her struggles and pain that no other person has ever understood, or ever attempted to understand. It was then that Afeela understood that paper was able to digest way more than individuals, a feature that glimmered some hope in her eyes for a cruel world that had given her next to nothing. But she forgot that she started the shadow technique and didn’t end it yet. She, a goldfish girl who has short-term memory retended concerning this aspect, went on penning down her emotions without caring of any judgment and its criticism. Her reason for being, which is Ikigai in Japanese, became the ability to connect with people and, in doing so, be happy herself. She started wanting to create written miracles that would convey messages about love and loss and the understanding of those things. She began to learn how to speak plainly, but with great impact, without ever turning to fanciful ideas yet concentrating on heartfelt feelings that each and every person has experienced in their lives. Apart from that, she is really reflective and emotional, she empathizes with people instead, and is learning to cope with those feelings in writing. In addition, she concentrates on little details of a person that are insignificant and easily ignored by other people, such as a small scar, a breath, and a pause – the most ordinary phenomena. Whereas she considered avoiding simple or fantastical ideas, her writing was uncomplicated but filled with the emotions she had spoken of – intense imagery using a base of real-life. Music, poetry and stories alike, she dealt with all the suffering, yearning and affection, all of which were losses certainly, in the same way they would be for anyone who read or heard her. But she absolutely was not yet willing to offer her work to the view of the public because of fear, feelings of unworthiness and criticism. The etymology of Afeela also implies the image of someone who is perceptive, reflective in action, and tough as nails. It can also be interpreted as a person who has great depths however their waters are still, more often than not. However, the literal meaning of Afeela is associated with darkness which is ironic considering how bright her personality can be. Afeela had always been the quiet one, the girl who was always unseen, blended into the background, unnoticed and unremarkable, only a few prefixes and teachers from the schools would even know her name. But what people again didn’t see except from, that existence was the storm that raged- rage, rather which was not only because of the home but the endless affliction it was within the walls of that community, society. To a shy girl such as her, the mental bullying was utterly horrific. It was like slowly inflicted damage, a mental betrayal poisoning her mind and soul to such depths that one could choose to resist it, but the consequences would involve surrendering something essential, something which now she bore unwillingly. It was not the typical bullying that gives bodily injuries and black eyes unless they were hidden inside, it was the type that destroyed her image of herself, reassured her very little, and made her anxious about everything with a deep level of self-doubt residing deep inside her. The harsh stares and the sneering remarks and every single cackle behind her backs made her feel like she was accumulating tiny scratches where each cut was a deeper layer from the many wounds of her family battles, nagging, and tortures. The other kids were very hard on her and reminded her every chance they got what a 'freak' she was, how deeply she didn’t belong whether she liked it or not, how there was a little too much of some things in her and not enough of the useful ones. They never ever laid a hand on her, but their words were swords as dangerous as anything and sharper than any blade, to be precise. Afeela inside did not want to lash back but showed a valiant strength and composure which even if hurt her deeply, she never gave them an opportunity to see. Assuredly, she never sobbed within sight of them even once. She only felt every impact and let each one swallow her whole without making movements, then pushed it to a distant corner of her being where all pain came and subsisted albeit having difficulty in breathing. However, it comes a time when all the mental cement that was held in for the longest time, bursts. So, she let out that blow of pain through her most cherished invention - paper. When she was writing, it was as if someone had cut open one of her myriad veins, and all the wrath, grief and fatigue was seeping on that page. The ink started to flow out like blood from her flesh, and the sheet became a part of her, with every word she wrote relieving herself of a degree of the poison within. Words on the pages gave her a voice, requested by the bullies, neglected abuse, culture of violence she knew, how it made her feel degrading, useless, wrong, odd and worthless. She documented the petrifying trepidation that deeply settled in her muscle, suggesting a feeling that engulfed her, far worse than mundane exhaustion. Alongside that, she felt fatigue on a psychological level, due to the perpetual suppression of her inner self so as to project stability, an impression of wellness when she was actually not well. Having sought mental liberation from the handwritten pages, hundreds worth of recordings in her notesApp, every available note booked, her consciousness overflowing in a vacuum and becoming hard to breathe. And in those inflated respiring moments, Afeela experienced a rather perplexing release, an outlet, a source of solace which only those situations seemed to offer. The paper wanted her monologuing, consumed every letter, tone, each and every feeling and retained it without passing any sort of hasty conclusions. It is the only thing that always made sense to her, the only embracing hold that she possessed in a world that was full of demand but give nothing back. She immediately started to jot down, "To me, the language they use in terms of depicting the environment is as though they were throwing poisoned arrows." and it appeared to me as though the words lacerated my heart. So she became quiet for a bit, holding her brush still, and after some time lifted her gaze and said, "Although it may not be apparent to anyone, ever cried on these pages. My eyes may not shed the tears, but every line, every sentence bears them." As she wrote, she started understanding that while the ache still existed, still bruising and far too much, it was slightly more manageable now that it had been expressed in the open on her pages, Standing on her pages, she could put it away and perhaps feel less pain as it were not confined solely in her head. There was a need for expression, To write, to work things out in her mind and survive, and in that Was something, Something that she internalized There was strength there that she didn’t even know she had. Despite the absence of any respite from the bullies, constant fighting at home, Afeela showed signs of resilience. She discovered a strategy to cope with everything, to endure without yearing and without crumbling. She, however, knew that it was something purely great. They derisively referred to her and her pen as words "Fake", here they were wrong, very soon these very words will become the titles of the saddest poems in the fairest book of her collection. The collection that would perhaps, one day, be made available to the public. And there will come the time when those who had heard her tale, saw what she withstood throughout the years, the very people who caused her distress, will not be able to find a place in the society. "I put dish liquid in the water so that I can do this without worrying about making a mess. It is hard to explain but I put pen to paper, let out every feeling that I have within me, and there are no other eyes on me. I do not owe anybody the right to judge me nor do I have to defend myself against any form of criticism. The paper is fascinated by what is being said, it hears my grievances, my raving, my sorrows and does nothing. And that," she finished, "is more than anybody else has ever rendered me." Now, when some time has gone by, Afeela became more attentive to the act of writing. What began as a release, a means of releasing the pain inside her and the silence of life around her, burgeoned into an obsession that took her over. She composed as though she were the protagonist, her pen moved quicker than a tiger in open fields. She was filling blank pages of notebooks with the stories, poems, and thoughts that she could never communicate aloud. Each word, each phrase, became a lifebuoy, helping her out of the blackness that engulfed her. And soon after that, her oral poetry was noticed and appreciated by her English teacher, when she didn’t even mean to, the teacher found a couple of poems at the last pages of Afeela’s notebook and gave her compliments, for the first time, and that was like heaven. She never realized such a simple thing as appreciation could feel so nice; a mere pat on the shoulder can do quite a lot to her. In the end, a small publisher, who happened to be based within the school’s border, noticed Afeela’s work, so much so that, within no time at all, Afeela had completed the writing of her debut book titled "Hope in the Dark: Pen & paper." It was far from a best-seller; still, it was an emotional connection of hers that has no price tag for she produced it courtesy of her experience. That was a victory; albeit a difficult one, which only she appreciated at that time. But her parents… I am afraid, had a divergent way of looking at things. Father and Mother were also practical, if not the same, shaped by the conditions of their everyday struggle for a better living all their lives. There was love for Afeela but that love came with chains of incessant pestering and cooler rated expectations. For them, writing was seen as a mere pastime, a pointless activity which is a sheer wastage of time and more so will never bring food on the table, let alone secure the future of their daughter. They also failed to appreciate the deeper feelings, the imagery in her text, how she used to express her agony on paper and transformed it into art. It was simply a waste of time, they thought, one that will lead Afeela to nowhere. "Concentrate on more meaningful matters," his exasperated father would advise her. "Afeela, writing is an unprofitable venture. You had better grow up and accept the facts of life." Her mother would support her husband in silence and promptly say, "These tales and poems you are engrossed in or should I say entertained with are futile. You need to get a job, a decent one that will make you self-sufficient and prosperous." The accusatory words were disappointing but Afeela always tried to toss them aside and not allow them to affect her in any way. Writing was her passion because it was the only thing that was rational in her otherwise chaotic world. But the voices of her parents were really hard for her to fight back, their assertiveness being something very substantial that she found difficult to brush aside or even attempt to cling on. They wanted her to lead a life where she could fend for herself, to achieve what was pragmatic within their worldview, which in their judgment, was that writing was not a very sound venture. "Writing is what I love," Afeela, on many occasions whispered to herself while at the dead of the night when the house could afford her rather large silence, as she attempted to grasp the pen once more and only shuddered helplessly. "But they wish for me to change, to become something I am unwilling to change into, to become something that I will never be. They want me to make money, to be victorious but not in this manner. Not by using the power of words." She felt caught in the conflict between two worlds- one that allowed her to pursue her passion, and the other, which required her to conform to her parents’ expectations of her. The tension was great, in addition to which was the anxiety of being unsuccessful. However, the stories quivering inside her would not be stifled. They insisted upon being put to paper, upon being expressed, Even if it costs rebellion against the very people… She cared about the most. One night, after feeling the pressure of their expectations, she sat down with a journal and wrote, "I just want to be free." "Free to express my thoughts in whichever worldly solitude I voluntarily choose to dwell in, free to step into my purpose and become what I’m actually made to be. But it is as if I am stuck in between my desires and their demands and I do not know how to pick and what to pick, yet even why to pick." Afeela understood that the prospects of becoming a successful writer, as her parents put it, earned her little hope, but to her, writing was far more than a career; it was a line of existence, an exit, a space inside she could fill even when everyone else was around to help her, organizing the chaos within herself, the way she coped with a world that was mostly dark and devoid of reason. And still, she wrote. Even after the constant whining, even after the worries that maybe she was doing the wrong thing. Because ultimately it was the only thing that made her feel alive, and removed that apathy which was never meant to be there in the first instance. Yet Afeela’s journey was far from simple. In the process of developing her writing skills, she concentrated on creating even more, but the more she did the more painful it became and it wasn’t just in the hand but the heart as well. Everywhere she looked was writing, but even more so, there was the unbearable feeling of being all alone, and that feeling only intensified each passing day. It felt as if a thunderstorm was brewing when her parents did not approve of the choice she had made, and being all alone without any assurance, support or empathy made the situation dire. For hours on end, she would sit by herself in the confines of her room with only the glare from her laptop to keep her company, the rest of her surroundings unusually bright. Her pen would be the only thing that could be heard hungrily eating at the paper in front of her. After all, the stillness can be crippling and already the thoughts of doubt would slither back to the furthest reaches of her psyche. And in the absence of someone to calm her anxieties, articulate words of encouragement, and inform her that she was indeed on course, such uneasiness would usually run free and deep, shaking her faith in everything. "Perhaps they are right," such thoughts would cross her mind in the stillness of the night, when silence grew unbearable. "Maybe this is all a big joke. I can’t possibly earn a living out of this. I’m just deluded." The image of her parents and the way they had looked back at her with disappointment whenever she had so much as mentioned her passions tormented her. They wished to break her off writing, they wanted her to do something more pragmatic with her life that would, at least, be capable of providing a stable income and security. Without anyone to refute their claims, without even a friend, a mentor patronizing her, the words were very often the only reality. However, she felt that writing was a gift that only brought discomfort and her only peace was in the misery. It was in this that she let go of all pain, fears and desires. Yet every time she sat at the table turned to writing, the void closed in on her, and the dreary feeling of the writing – seeking her doing, almost impossible. There came a time when days passed and she could not move even a finger to write, at times when the seclusion became very unbearable. I’m all by myself in this," she wrote in her diary one evening, ink running down the pages from the tears. "Nobody gets it. Nobody understands how important this is, how much I need it. I’m making every effort, but it’s as if every obstacle keeps piling up, and here I am, feeling like I’m losing the war—and you’re not here." What was at issue was not only the agony of having to wrestle with the pen; it was instead the kind of loneliness that seemed to characterize her very being. The absence of encouragement and the presence of no one to cheer her on caused her to regard every impediment as inevitably insurmountable. And numerous challenges were impeded by the bullies, the dropping grades, the annoying inner critique of her which was always underestimating her, and the parents who were unendingly asking her to renounce her dreams for the pure life of a more traditional society. She poured out into the barren canvas of her diary, whenever she felt as if she was gearing for a contest, only that, she wasn’t sure of herself. "I would continue with this path not knowing if it is within my strength." Still, there was something within her that wanted to fight on, even in the face of overwhelming difficulties. Writing was her anchor, the means of her finding order in the chaos around her and in the midst of the isolation and the uncertainty, this thing, she could not quit. It was the only thing which belonged exclusively to her, the only aspect of her existence which made sense in the often confusing and heartless world that she inhabited. "There might be no one beside me, at least for now," she jotted defiantly in one of her rare moments of defiance, "but I will not give up. I have my words, and I am not completely lost as long as they are with me. I will write, though no one else may understand, for this is the only way I can manage to exist." And so she did maintain this course of action. She did not stop writing more concernedly - she kept going even when healing inflammation hiding deep in her heart seemed impossible. That was not easy — every day was a battle, and doing any one of them forward took almost every last bit of energy she had. But she did not allow herself to fall away from the waves of despair breathing on her neck. She merely allowed herself to dream that from somewhere, someday, someone would hear what she was trying to say. In the end, even if she could be left, Afeela was sure it was a battle worth waging – her words. And she wished that would be enough to help her out of the abyss. When Afeela Jenkins was a child, she was full of life—a little girl who loved to talk, share her thoughts, and explore the world around her with wide-eyed curiosity. Her voice was bright and cheerful, always eager to express the stories and ideas swirling in her mind. But as time passed, that voice began to fade, silenced by those who should have been kind but weren’t—people she would come to think of as the "cross-listed ones," or simply, CLs. The CLs appeared to possess some sort of magic over her and it was not because they were better or stronger, but rather because they possessed malicious ways to injure her without leaving any visible injuries. Those were the people who abused her, making her feel unimportant, unworthy, and even frightened through their utterances and deeds. Afeela was a creative child and in her mind the figure of an X would emerge before those people who spoke to her that way and in that ugly voice directed towards her. The X developed to mean ‘rejection’, that these persons were dangerous and should be avoided at any cost. When she was young, Afeela simply could not explain the suffering they caused her, although she certainly felt it. Every time a CL used that tone to speak to her, she would feel herself diffusing even more, her voice getting lower and lower until hardly any sound came out. She would not answer them, would not retort to the biting reproaches or stern looks. The X in her mind that she saw struck over their faces was very huge, serving as a reminder of the power that they commanded over her. "Why do they hate me?" she would ask herself, trying hard to reason a child’s logic to the adult who is xenophobic towards children mascots. "What have I done that is so terrible?" And there were none, only the heavy stillness that came about and surrounded her, suffocating the once lively and sociable little girl. Those CLs made her feel afraid of existing and filled her with over.anxiety over simple matters such as raising her hands in class and making new acquaintances. They made the environment hostile, a place where the slightest misstep would trigger their anger. The X was ever present, always cutting across the faces of potential injurers, retreating deeper within herself into her own mind where she was safe and her visions protected her. That scope of safety had a cost though. When she started to pull back, she suffered from the effects of being cut off and being able to convey little . Candor in her tone became devoid of confidence and brightness; it was now so covered with apprehension and trepidation that it could only be heard as a muted sound. The Illustrious Ladies had properly managed to subdue her in perspectives that she was powerless to combat, not when she was a little girl. "I couldn't take them on myself." would be how again Afeela would recall and index her actions. "I was too frightened, too apprehensive about the consequences of their actions or words. The X looming in front of them advised me not to speak, to bow over and remain quiet. And I complied. I resorted into silence, into inaction because it was preferable, more, comfortable. But was it comfort? It was not really, was it? It only made me feel more alone, more terrified." The CLs instilled in Afeela that being reticent is a virtue; that her thoughts and feelings should be placed in non-judged zones. It was them who placed a boundary to come out and face the world which made her childhood a constant cycle of fear and low self-esteem. Even upon maturing, the ghosts of their torment remained in her throat where her voice should have been, and so it was hard for her to find that voice and to speak up. And yet, while recognizing the pain she has suffered, while acknowledging the oppression cast over her, Afeela still had a sweet and wild imagination. In that imagination, she found a way to fight back and restore the voice that was taken away from her. The CLs could not be faced directly, the X on their faces couldn’t be wiped away but writing could. She could release everything lost in the endless circles of her mind onto the paper and heal herself by saying everything that she couldn’t speak. "The consequences of being estranged from my voice might have taken place during that period," she wrote in the letter, allowing the ink to flood the paper. "There’s no need to say at present. There’s no need to say I’m writing at the moment. And I refuse to be cowed however much effort is made to do so. This time, I’ll tell my story no matter the audience. I’m not scared of anything anymore. The X has disappeared, and they have dissipated as well." I guess an introduction is in order. I go by Afeela. I am a very typical person and not a typical person at the same time. The reason for the latter is I suffer from some darker thoughts. Not something which is common with every other person. So maybe that makes me different. But then again, being different is not always a bad thing, is it? I will start with more details about myself. My hobbies include singing. I stood first in a national level singing competition when I was only 7. It was one of those instances that made me feel that I was born to do something unique. But here’s the irony, my parents? They didn’t share this view. Funny enough, they were of the opinion that it was all "purely a waste of time." So, I had to shove my singing preference aside, despite the fact that it was the only thing that kept me alive, as I had something to call my own. But I didn’t lose hope. I couldn’t. I started writing at midnight after everyone else had gone to bed and no one was around to tell me I was wasting my time. I would stay up very late with a pen ready to write in a dark room and leaven out every single thought of me before the morning came and I had to hide it all again—sometimes under the bed, in the wardrobe with the clothes, or even up a corner shelf in the bathroom. It became mine, a form of defiance in a world determined to mute me. And to be honest, not every other normal person does that, no? Wasting so much time to write to such a late hour where writing seems as escape from life—a sort of underground business. That is not what people would consider normal. Perhaps that is not what I wish to achieve. Perhaps I am just trying to make it through, figuring out how to go on when everything else is falling apart. Even if she does not fully realize the enormity of her potential, Afeela is a gem. A quiet elegance accompanies her, as she glides through life devoid of awareness of the beauty surrounding her. Her pale skin is a smooth blank canvas ruddy with freckled spots that add beauty to her. Round spectacles that decorate her fascinating lavender irises, which, like everything else about her, are captivating, Short twisted locks grace the edges of her face whilst a charming beauty spot is situated beneath her chin, a figure lent that enhances her beauty. She has geometric facial features, who has chubby cheeks that dip into attractive dimples every time she smiles. Her body is slender but very refined, looking like a balinese statue sculpted carefully. But Afeela is not only a pretty face. She talks in a manner that resembles a well-organized novel where every spoken word is premeditated and has its own importance. But still, this phenomenon happens in writing, but not in speaking; she does not speak the words out, even when she wants to. Writing, as it appears, is not difficult for her, fairer than the ‘Naked Lady’, the words dancing within the writer’s mind, thanks to those who know it. However, she remains an enigma most of the time because beyond her wittiness in writing, is her invisibility. Regardless of how aversive she is to rain, she dances with an elegance that attains the heights of a peacock and expresses herself fully with all the motions in her body. The viewers understand the irony very well; someone with such amazing dance skills is averse to water, which is a source of life. It is puzzling, like everything else about Afeela. Her presence is perfumed with jasmine, an intoxicating fragrance that stays long after her departure but has no charms as a rose for she associates it with someone’s painful past, a past full of beauty ideals and their resultant supposition. Sunshine and blossoms is not her type for She is inverno, moonlight, and orchids. "Hers is a feeling that lavender mountains incarnate and no words can even come close". Those captivating lavender orbed eyes of her Exprezzed beyond volumes. They portrayed that which she tried her best to lock and bury within her fears, yearnings, tears, and even hope. However, Afeela too, more often than not, has to clamp up on herself, not out of choice per se but out of the heavy silent compression of an incomprehensible world that fails to appreciate the sheer sub-individuality. There are many of them out, one of such delicate spirits bearing such only her in an ostentatious way – the extraordinary nature within the ordinary world. And she being oblivious can be called Afeela was pretty in every sense where pretty has a meaning. One night as the day drew to a close and the abode started enveloped in its usual nightly activities, there was something Afeela listened to with her heart racing. There were sounds made by her parents filtered with the walls of her room, however, this time the intensity of tenor annoyingly squabbling was excessively higher. She stepped in closer to the door and put her ear on it as if begging the people inside for any information on what they were arguing about. "Not to mention the fact that if we do not introduce her to social situations, she might never be social even in the future, Harris!" The tone of her mother was clipped and imperative, and it was apparent that she was exasperated. There was also fierceness in the father’s voice, "This world is dangerous, why can’t you get it?!" Mixed with his tone was a kind of fear that was more of worry than that of a man. "Then please tell me," she retaliated, her voice sharpening at the edges, "how is she going to survive by herself in the future? You are going to be financially responsible for her until she becomes an aged? An age where she is in a sickbed? Huh?" Afeela felt a chill spread through her after this quarrel. She sensed her chest constricting, and her breathing was fast and belabored. She descended to the floor with her back pressed against the door, convinced the floor was about to crack and give in beneath her. "Live alone… that’s no place… deathbed…," were the thoughts that etched themselves in her mind incessantly. Then there was the fear that filled her stomach to the point of choking. Before too long, Afeela’s mother Candice knocked on her door, breaking Afeela’s spiral of anxiety. "Afeela, come to the living room. We need to talk." A finale in Afeela’s mother’s voice did not allow for protest. Afeela disregarded equilibrium for a second as her mind navigated through the implications of what she had just overheard. Instead, she gathered herself, fought the urge of the growing sense of panic within her and opened the door. Her mother stood on the other side dressed in a determined yet anxious expression. "You will be going to a college, and will be living in a hostel," her voice came out steady like someone trying to suppress her feelings. "It's the best college after all, and I hope your results are good as well. This is for your betterment Afeela." Candice hinted at how Afeela understood this, because she said it wasn’t just of education. That isn’t the issue here. There was no doubt their parent's concerns and fears regarding her independence in the world. Even more, it was about limiting her, coercing her out of the familiar space she had always lived in to the terrifying out there. And still, as much as she was terrified at the thought of going away, she also saw that as the only option afforded to her; a way of escaping the four walls that made her home feel like a prison. "Okay," was her soft reply accompanied by another nod. That was the only response she could offer, the only way to gain a little of her freedom back. But on her way to her room as she began collecting her belongings, a strange discomfort settled in the pit of her belly. The thought of stepping outside her comfort zone, walking into a blank canvas of a world, made her terribly apprehensive. She had never traveled without her family; she had never experienced a situation where she wasn’t acquainted with each nook and cranny, each obscurity. It was while keeping her clothes in the suitcase that the heaviness of all this began to dawn on her. "I’ve never done anything like that before," she told herself, lifting her bag and holding it steady as her hands began to quiver. "I’m not sure this is something I can even embark on. What if… what if I don’t succeed?" Fears gripped her viscera as they emerged one after the other, adding power to the unease she was feeling. However, it was too late for her to change her mind. A choice had been made, and prepared or not, she would have to deal with the consequences. Afeela sucked in a large breath as she tried to compose herself. "This is my chance," she thought. "My chance to run away, to escape and seek for something new, something better." But that was not the case and even as she tried to think of the possibilities of something new, the stillness canonized her, a nagging feeling of all the steps she was about to take away from her comfortable, safe life. This was going to be her first time staying away from her family. Sitting on the edge of her bed, one half-packing a suitcase that was half-packed beside her, Afeela exhaled deeply, feeling exhausted. The reality of it all was beginning to settle in, the weight of the unknown locked her chest and pressed down hard. She grabbed her journal administratively, the only place she could express her heart without any judgement, inhibition or censorship. Beneath a blank page, she opened her pen and started scribbling her thoughts off the emotional racket within her. What ifs filled her head in excessive amounts and each one ate at her determination and discomforted her with the possibility of something terrible happening. What if I do not belong? What if everyone rejects me? What if I do not pass any of my subjects? What if the instructors have very high standards? What if I get disoriented in the school compound? What if I am unable to socialize with others? What if the meals served are not my preference? What if adjusting to the new environment proves difficult? What if I leave something behind that may be vital? What if my flatmates find me unpleasant? What if I do not manage the assignments within the given time frame? What if the surroundings are too noisy and bustling? What if I feel like I am losing it? What if I become too attached to my kin? What if it results in my embarrassment? What if my words come out inane? What if the situation becomes intolerable? What if I end up missing this life? What if my intelligence is not on par with others? What if I am too busy to set aside time for writing? What if I forget who I am? What if I become a different person only to realize I do not like her? What if it remains strange for the entire time? What if I tend to always feel empty or isolated? What if I make mistakes? What if I go there and end up disliking it? What if I wish to return but there are no means? What if everything else fails? What if I cannot stand being alone? What if I fall ill and there is no one to look after me? How will I manage to fall asleep at a place I am not familiar with? What if I do not know my way around in the town? What if I have to encounter rude individuals? What if it is impossible for me to sustain the payments? What if I deplete all my finances? What if I struggle to communicate with the instructors? What if I do not comprehend them? What is there to say if I have too much work and cannot cope? What if I do not cope? What if I cause my father and mother great regret? What if I let myself down? What if there is no available place to sit down and reflect? What if I do not muster the strength to give a contribution to the class? What if I cannot recall the facts that I have internalized? What if the seclusion becomes unbearable? What if I find it hard to be seen? What if I want to sob but have no place to go? What if the words I wish to speak are out of reach? What happens if I become estranged from everyone back home? What happens if I change so much I do not recognize myself? What happens if the world is more unforgiving than I pictured it? What happens if I panic when I am with them? What happens if I am unable to cope with the pressure? What happens if I get submerged in people? What happens if being away from everything known is unbearable? What happens if I stop enjoying writing as I do? What happens if I begin to feel I am not good? What happens if I become homeless in the sense of not having a home? What happens if I want to try new things, but I am too afraid? What happens if intimidation stops me from acting on opportunities? What happens if I make a blunder that is beyond rectification? What will happen if I feel the need to go back home and they refuse? What if this is a decision I will look back at with bitterness forever? With every ‘What if’ she wrote, Afeela felt a little thicker at the tissue cutting in hand. The uncertainty seemed infinite, an abyss that could consume her should she allow it. She remained in place and scanned the paper that bore all her fears, pausing occasionally to feel the weight of all those interrogatives embedded within it. Every what if was a scenario, a fork in the road that held the risk of failure, of loss, of regret. And yet, as scary as they were, the conclusions did not need to be drawn in Afeela’s case. She had to confront them, one at a time, and learn to go on, even if doing so involved the risks of the unknown, even if every ‘What if’ would have to be considered as a risk. They would not stop coming, what if, until they crushed her. Every single one was but a spark of uncertainty off of which anxiety was ready to blossom. She focused on the surface of the paper, its ink not dried yet, held on her breath, and looked for some order within the chaos that was her mind. Afeela understood quite well that no amount of scheming or psyching up would assuage the dread of the uncertainty of the outcome. But for the time being fleshing them out on paper was her weapon of preventative defense against complete psychosis. Afeela let out a soft cry, as if a heavy load of depressive thoughts was pressed and worsened over her chest. There was an unsettling excitement in her legs as they began to tingle while she thought, Yep, did it again—overthinking. And there it was; the knowledge that the worst was coming. It always arrived. Just a thin stream of blood from her nose was a clear indication that once again, her mind dominated her body’s capabilities. She began to sway rhythmically, clutching her legs as though trying to keep herself from falling apart. Her hands were shaking vigorously, while her legs felt heavy like rock. The apprehension that had been eating her up finally erupted, and she broke down in tears. She wept as she tried to contain herself. She was scared of what would happen next. I would rather die than live this way, she braced herself for thought. It was chilling and harsh and felt like a blade, the only real thing left was this. I can’t take it any more... I can’t see any reason for this suffering. Why am I not allowed to be like everybody else? What is so painful? The people around her and within her created a noise that turned into a roar, filled with thoughts, with air, and without any logic. They penetrated her core, repeating the essential doubts and worries she had tried to shove a long way inside. She could not take any more. Putting her hands to her ears, she screamed, "No! No! Stop! I don’t wanna feel this!" It was the last remnant of self-control leaving her, as she hit her thighs against the bed, wishing the thought police would leave her be. "Stop! I don’t want this! No!" Her black cat, Twilight, jumped on the bed and sat beside Afeela, taken aback by the commotion. The cat with her silky black coat and goldish watery-eyed gaze snuggled Afeela, pulling her small figure to Afeela’s thigh as if that would ground her. Yet even the comfort of Twilight wasn’t the help against the storm raging inside. Afeela screamed as if to beat the sound which tranquilized the cat, but was unsparing to the patience of her parents, who were fast asleep in the adjoining room and were oblivious to their daughter’s cries. Then, everything went dark for her. Afeela fainted, staggering towards the bed with a jolt even as she bit her hand in a desperate need to contain the pain, this unbearable pain. But this wasn't the first time, it was just an anxiety attack, rather it is one of the many anxiety attacks that have plagued her for over a year now. After what felt like forever, Afeela drew a shaky breath, her eyes snapping open as she shot up. The room was once again quiet except for Twilight’s soft sympathetic mews. She was right there next to Afeela, her gold eyes wide and worried. With shaky fingers, Afeela extended her hands and embraced Twilight, this time successfully. "Twilight… It’s fine, I’m okay…" she murmured to the cat in a reassuring tone but also in a tone that was meant to calm her own fears. As if sensing the fear still lingering in her, Twilight pressed her body close to Afeela, her warm little frame nestled against Afeela’s. Cuddling Twilight made Afeela cry once more, but this time the tears were softer and more restrained. "I’m all alone except you, Twilight… How can I survive over there without you?" These were horrible thoughts as her only solace, her only friend, was going to be snatched away from her. She sobbed silently, her salty tear stains on the cat’s coat as she clutched the little creature for support. At some point, the weariness of the night, the fear, and the overactivity in her brain combined to bring her down. Afeela managed to close her eyes while still holding onto Twilight in her arms, the only source of warmth being the cat's calming purr. At least for now, she had company. And that made the difference between getting in bed but lying awake for the rest of the night and getting through another night. With sunbeams sneaking through the curtains, the warmth of the golden rays graced Afeela’s face, making her lavender pupils glimmer with the brightness of the sapphires. She moved about, ensuring that all her body parts were in the right position as the day welcomed her inside. Her black loyal pet named Twilight was out of bed too and was sitting right next to the edge of the bed with her tail swaying in excitement. The picture brought a smile on Afeela’s face though it came with warm and sad feelings in equal measure. Afeela was aware of her surroundings; she sat up and rubbed her eyes and carried Twilight over to her lap. The feline child purred as Afeela caressed her shiny fur and planted a soft kiss on the top of Twilight’s head. "Oh today is the day, kitty, I have to leave…" she said in a small voice filled with dread. With a sense of determination, Afeela glided through her morning routine. While Afeela was brushing her teeth, the cat was walking behind her like a shadow. She had a shower Elivra towel, patted dry her body, took her comb, and went through her short-chained silky brown hair, finding serenity in the backs and forths. She picked a floral printed lavender dress; her best of them all that always made her feel a bit courageous, this one walked with purple socks and a clean pair of white sneakers. The delicate material hugged her body, embracing her with its warmth. Afeela, who dressed and groomed herself, went out, but her steps were slow, and with a lot of consideration. She took a seat on a wooden long chair, which was exposed to the front yard, where the temperature was still chilly due to the night, but gradually increasing due to the sun. Twilight settled next to her, coiling around her feet, while Afeela’s parents were present and engaged, their concerns wrapped around their voices. Harris, her father, was the more frantic of the two, pacing around the room in distress with his words coming out in a tumble. "Afeela, for the love of God, do not talk to strangers. And also remember to call us every single day? And for the love of Jesus Christ, would you please stop spending your damned money like a drunken sailor! Halfway into the semester I don’t want you broke. And —" "Harris, let her breath for god’s sake," Candice, Afeela’s mother, cut him off but with an affable tone. Well composed Candice still did not hide her worries. "She is well aware of all this. You have repeated it a hundred times already." ‘That is not a reason why I can’t remind her, of course,’ shot back Harris and ‘remind’ was clearly not the right word as his anxiety turned into irritation. ‘This world is dangerous, Candice! And you know it just as well as I know it! What if—’ ‘What if what, she is sixteen already, Harris? What if she learns to look after herself?’ This was too much for Candice who raised her voice at that point. ‘She wants this. We cannot have her under the lid forever.’ So that their quarrel continued, this was the all too well known dialectic that Afeela had grown associated with throughout her life. They were both right in their own ways but caused her to be stuck and uncomfortable as the university bus approached, Afeela felt the anxiety and troubled condition of her father’s over-protectiveness and herself distanced from the pressure of the attachment that her mother’s attitude toward it caused. After some time, Afeela ignored their voices and concentrated more on the warm sun rays touching her skin as well as the cool breeze that made her dress sway. Twilight’s soft meow interrupted her thoughts, as if sensing her discomfort and Afeela bent down to scratch her behind the ears, finding contentment in the small gesture. The cacophony of laughter, chatter, and commotion from outside the bus made her aware of the imminent arrival of her means of transport. With the bus also came the dawning of a new phase in her life. Afeela did not know if she was prepared for that, but she was aware that she had to deal with it regardless of her feelings towards it. The future stretched ahead beyond her sight, a flutter of the unknown piquing her excitement as much as filling her with dread, but for now, all she could do was breathe in, and breathe out as she prepared to walk. A striking sky blue-colored bus arrived at the front yard, the bus polished to perfection to the shine of the sun rays. The side bus bore Afeela’s attention as she read in conspicuous letter borealis university. She lingered a little and her mind began to wander. Borealis… is that something to do with the northern lights? The association made her smile and it was nice to know that sooner or later, she would get to see something as pretty and enigmatic as the northern lights. In front of her, there were her parents-expression fermions of pride, anxiety and love all at once. They put their arms around her and squeezed her within mellow burdens; her mother kissed the top of her head while her father did not release her for some moments more, as though he did not want to let her go. ‘Watch yourself, darling’, Candice remarked, her tone unwavering although there was an undercurrent of raw emotion in it. Harris made it sound casual, but the cracking of his voice betrayed his calmness, ‘Call us.’ Afeela then looked over down at Twilight who was sitting at her feet as if waiting for something but already knew that today was going to be different. She bent down and wrapped her arms around the furry ball purring against her, resting her cheek against its coat. "See you later, Twilight… Be good," she uttered, holding back her sadness for leaving the cat. Tossing back her head and taking a deep breath, she stood up and grasped the handle of the big lavender suitcase she was holding a little tighter. She also hefted a purple backpack on her back with the necessary supplies for the trip aptly placed inside it. Waving her parents farewell for the last time and taking one last look at Twilight, she stepped into the bus. The bus conductor, who was friendly, smiled and nodded in greeting a moment before reaching for her luggage which was a lavender suitcase. Afeela gave him a small thankful smile after which she started to walk down the aisle a bit unsure of herself in the search of the seat. At last, she settled on an unoccupied seat that was halfway toward the front, slid into it, and instantly cuddled her backpack. The apprehension that had been waiting patiently for all of the morning began to attempt an assault once more causing enough turmoil in her belly. She was feeling so little among all those people and all those people were strangers. And what is more she did not know what the future held for her. In an attempt to soothe her nerves, Afeela rummaged through her bag and got her earphones and put them on in haste. She checked through her soothing songs and immediately located her target. It was the sound of whales. The moment the soft deep rumble of the sounds entered her ears, she decided to Exhale… grade her eyes with the world. Warm waters filled her chin and she was slowly weakly relaxing her body. Sweet soothing sounds of whales and breathing slowly that had become a hard work encircled her like a shawl, allowing the turbulence within her head to calm down. As soon as the transport set in motion, she felt the vibrations around her, the vibrations that marked the beginning of her journey destined for Borealis University. Listening to the familiar sounds of the whales that were a part of her universe, Afeela surrendered into the tranquility that enveloped her devoid of the fear if only for a second, turning her thoughts inward. The road ahead appeared to be long and littered with unknowns, but at least, for now, she was able to latch on to this small pocket of tranquillity. As the bus rattled on, Afeela felt a movement in the seat beside her. She saw a boy, out of the corner of her eye, lowering himself into the seat next to hers. Immediately, she felt a discomfort in her chest that made it hard to breathe. She tensed up, her body refusing to get accustomed to the involuntary closeness. Why did he have to sit here? she wondered, feeling her heart rate climb just a little. Afeela had never been this close to a guy in all her life. Her upbringing within a girls’ school had limited her socializing hence making her world small and controllable. Speaking with a boy, sharing the same space as one, was a completely foreign and disturbing idea. It was not simply shyness; it was the strangeness of the situation that made her skin hot and itchy. a steady pressure of warmth establishing a barrier between them, a tangible, almost suffocating atmosphere surrounding her. She relaxed and settled back in her seat, making no effort to reorient her body toward him. Instead, she allowed herself to be drawn into the distance beyond the window. The foliage turned into a verdant haze, and overhead, there was an endless domed azure sky. But even as she busied herself with the scenery through the window, it was almost impossible to avoid the figure sitting adjacent to her—his body brushing against hers, the rise and fall of his chest in perfect harmony with hers Keep staring out the window. What are you worried about? Do not engage in too much thinking, she reminded herself as she tried to shove the unsettling feeling away. But alas, it was proving to be difficult. Baffling thoughts rushed through her mind, a blend of that piqued eagerness and apprehension. What kind of person is he? What made him choose to occupy this particular seat beside her when there were countless others? Did she even have a choice? They were both silent, as though carrying an unbearable weight in their hearts, but Afeela could not bring herself to shatter the silence. Instead, she inserted her earphones more deeply, allowing the soothing sound of whales to take over her mind, and eliminating the apprehension that almost engulfed her. Focusing on the music’s monotonous beat, Afeela wanted to remain in the present and refrain from that particular race of thoughts that always simmered under the skin. When it came to him, or any guy for that matter, she didn’t know what to do. So, she did what she always did when confronted with uncertainty facing the outer world— retreat inside her mind and hide behind her thoughts and the views outside, allowing herself to be a spectator. He was losing her, and so said, "hi?" which was more of a request attended with a warm voice. The intonation fell back away, and Afeela felt all her limbs stiffen. A loud gasp escaped her lips as she turned slowly, her head twisting, to look at him, and she could feel her heart racing within her chest. "S-sup," she replied, her voice all but a few words, stuttering, taking little effort to keep back along with her heart. Self-loathing boiled inside her for acting so weak, but the current state of things made her too anxious to put her thoughts into words. He laughed, light hearted but not derisive. "Kinchō shite imasu ka?", he slightly chuckled. "I mean, are you nervous?" he said, observing her with his head tilted to one side. "I’m Christopher Brown, but you can call me Chris!" Dimples sprouted in his cheeks as he grinned at her and his smile somehow managed to look both charming and boyish. This boy was just like the heroes of Afeela’s novels- handsome and easy to approach with a warm light that made her heart race. "I’m Afeela…Afeela Jenkins…" she replied, the last part shaking more than her body. "You can call me… um…. Afeela?" The sentence came out rather clumsily and she was embarrassed at the thought of how foolish she might have sounded. Chris chuckled with pleasure, subtly but in the most mannerly way. "Should I call you ‘Um Afeela’ then?" he asked lightly, teasing her with his sparkling eyes that were filled with mischief. Her face turned a darker crimson as those words seemed to dawn on her, prompting her to fix herself in a jiffy, but embarrassment overcame her instead. "No, no- that is not what I was-" He let her finish with another hideous laughter, waving his hand as though to brush off her concerns. "I was just kidding, relax," he said light-heartedly, still wearing his grin. "Ayfie~" he made up a name for her on the spot. Afeela’s flush grew more pronounced with her burning cheeks as the nickname ‘Ayfie’ rang out in her ears. Ayfie— there has never been a time someone referred to her as that one, and the timbre that Chris pronounced it in made her heart gallop. It was an embarrassing situation mixed with emotion that she enjoyed and the feelings, all of them leaving her one word- ‘wow’. She felt conflicted because she bit her lower lip, not knowing what to say next. Luckily, Chris was simply smiling at her as his presence relieved her of the turmoil inside her. For a moment, she managed to switch off the annoying gnawing in her stomach and the whale noises plugged into her ears became background music while she concentrated on him. The nerves were still present within her but there was an additional emotion now, one that was warm and strange which led her to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, this new phase of her life was not going to be so hard after all. "You have never talked to any guys before, right?" Chris asked, folding his arms over his chest in contemplation. His soft tone held no prying intent, just mere playfulness lingering in his eyes. Afeela’s eyes opened wide as she was taken aback, her train of thoughts racing. How does he know? She twisted to face him, her face contained confusion and fear. "H-how’d you know?" she muttered, almost inaudibly, like she was afraid to know the answer. Chris grinned widely exposing his dimples once more but this time, a deeper softer understanding smile replaced the earlier one. "Assumed," he said waving his hand as though it was nothing, "I toned down a little coz you looked… a little tense when I sat down," he added looking straight in her eyes to make her understand he was not looking down on her. He was just kind enough to be observant. Afeela felt equal parts at ease and ashamed. In reality, she enjoyed the sight all too much, which was a little embarrassing as her cheeks showed signs of heat. Yet, there was something placating about his smile, his manner of speaking. There was no way he could be such a blockhead. Warding off that thought, he asked, explaining it all was like telling the weather report. "So…" he did not stop there, lowering his voice, "I would like to ask, is this the first time you are exposed to men or am I just the one making you feel this way?" His question was light-hearted and a bit teasing, however there was nothing of pressure in it, just the sincere interest. Against her will, Afeela let out an involuntary sigh, only to blush soon after, the corners of her lips forming a small shy smile. "I… I went to an all-girls school," she finally responded, her voice still quiet but now a little more controlled. "So, I mean… I guess I’ve never really…" there was a slight pause, "talked to guys." Was this the reason? Chris nodded as if this cleared everything; such a diagnosis was not particularly tragic or startling. "That makes sense," he said. "Well, I’m happy to be the first then," he said, quite naturally, making an effort to make her relax. Afeela could not fight back the urge to smile a bit wider; the tension in her body was gradually reducing as well. It was still there, at the edge of her mind, but Chris’s relaxed demeanor was spacious enough that it was ok to let some of it go, to allow herself to simply exist, even if that self was still a work in progress to her. Even as the focus of her attention shifted, Afeela’s expression was small in her smile but sincere in her warmth, as the tension in her shoulders eased somewhat. Chris had this warmth about him, a silent kind of tenderness that made the jerky bus rides slightly more bearable. However, even when the knots of her nerves began to unfold, that apprehension was still there—waiting, patiently, perhaps, at the back of her mind like a dark curtain covering the fact that all this was unexplored. She looked out the window again, the images outside of the glass while the bus was moving along the bumpy road began to fade. In her chest, her heart thumped a little too hard but it was no longer in overdrive. Chris leaned on his seat looking relaxed, allowing the silence to linger without giving the urge to talk. Sitting with someone who was not too demanding or pushy beyond her limits was nice, she thought. The view outside changed as the urban skyline was replaced by more and more of the flat and vast green grasslands. Afeela remembered getting caught up in the dynamics of the journey, the vibrations, and motions of the bus, the zipping avians from afar, and the quiet melodies in her head. She loved such brief intervals; those seconds where her world seemed to halt, still caught in between what was and what could have been. Yet, this exceptional moment of peace did not rid Afeela of the waves of oppressive thoughts characterization of mental tortures extending from the termite cage enlarging at the back of her head. What if I am not able to cope? What if they do not accept me? What if I embarrass myself? The girl exhaled faintly and clutched her rucksack’s strap even closer. It was as if she was on the threshold of an enormous opportunity—something that she could feel, but not see. A new experience, a new beginning, whatever it is that university life was meant to be.What if, on the contrary, she was not ready at all? Chris must have thought there was a notable shift in her behavior when he looked her way, tilting his head. "You’d be fine." he stated quietly yet reassuringly as if anticipating an emotional tempest from within her. Afeela was taken aback by his statement and could only respond, "What?” "Afeela you are going to be fine," he offered with a broad smile displaying his teeth. "Such feelings of apprehension are perfectly understandable, but for some reason, I sense more in you. You have a strength inside of you that you may not show." Afeela did not know how to interpret the compliment. Strong? That was a word she had never thought to apply to herself. Maybe fragile. Sure, anxious. But strong? Yet still, the way in which he spoke, almost as if he was so sure of it, was enough for her to want to entertain the idea, for the briefest moment, that perhaps there was some truth to it. She nodded and gave him a small smile that expressed her gratitude. "Thanks…" she managed to say so softly that one could hardly hear it but that was enough. The remainder of the ride, Afeela allowed herself to enjoy the moment, releasing the tension she had held on to since stepping into the bus. The way ahead seems foggy, and she was glad to know it wasn't going to be an easy ride. However, perhaps—just perhaps—she was wrong in viewing matters the way she had assumed them. Perhaps this was the first step in understanding her, as in, what lay beyond the barriers she had erected around herself. For the moment, it would be one breath, one step and one day at a time. And should the path prove difficult, Or perhaps even she was stronger than… She had given herself credit for. University was a few hours away, but Afeela wanted to ask Chris something. She hesitated then turned to him, catching and attracting his attention. He glanced at her, his expression mildly curious, but she quickly looked away, embarrassed and unsure how to start. Her mind swirled at the fears of fumbling midst the conversation or making it awkward. Chris sensed her hesitation and smiled without pressure. "So... was it a dream, that you wanted to get into university, or it could even mean parents are forcing you to do so… hmm?” A simple question-grave pressured her. Afeela felt herself colored at the thought of deciding what to say. "Um... I..." she stammered, which made her embarrassingly inattentive. He nodded knowingly, and added, "I get it. If you feel uncomfortable around me, that's totally fine as well. We don't even know each other yet. It's alright Aff~ "he said with a calming smile alongside a nickname he had casually mentioned to her earlier. “No Chris, I-It’s just… I’m scared I'll maybe fumble or say something stupid while talking," she murmured in a low, honest voice. Chris broke into laughter, and like so, his laughter was too light and catchy. "Has there ever been someone who never fell down in his life? Like, maybe a rare few, okay, but have you ever seen someone who's never cried, or yawned in public... or... you know… farted?" He giggled at his own joke, and Afeela couldn't help but chuckle as well, her nerves much less now. "Haha. What I mean is" - here he inhaled a fake sigh - "it's completely fine that you fumble. You're not a robot, Aff~." She looked at him, face still flushed but now with a slight, shy smile. "Just be you," he whispered, softly, and his voice was warm. "That is what matters." For a moment Afeela found herself with a flicker of confidence until she recalled why she turned towards him in the first place. "Oh, by the way, I wanted to ask something," she said, snapping back to reality, blinking rapidly. Chris raised an eyebrow, curious. “Okay? What is it?” She froze, her mind suddenly blank. "Uh... I forgot," she admitted being slightly embarrassed. Chris burst into laughter, shaking his head. "Forgot already? That must’ve been one important question," he teased, his dimples showing as he smiled. Afeela groaned, covering her face with her hands. "This is so embarrassing," she muttered. "Embarrassing? Nah," Chris said, leaning back in his seat. "It’s just humane… Totally humane Aff… Chill, Don’t sweat it." Then did the bus eventually pull over so as to come to a crawl, right outside a gasping place of a roadside inn. And so was the break being relayed by conductor, a short break for food and restrooms at the same time, when it began to show the students of the bus way out of their seats. The aisle was quickly clogged with people who wanted to stretch their legs, setting off a rabid frenzy. Afeela stood up in the middle, clinging to her bag, parading with clenched fists past the mob. So when she leaned against someone, and just at the wrong moment, he abruptly stopped in front of her to wrestle with his bag, she decided on an alternate mode to avoid him. However, she did her side stepping so terribly that she put her foot right onto the ledge of the passenger's seat in front of her. An audible gasp escaped through her open lips; she lost balance and pushed herself forward. So she hit very directly into Chris, throwing all her weight on him when she attempted to right herself. His arms reached out instinctively to catch her by the shoulders just before she was going to fall in full. For an instant, it seemed that neither of them moved and penetrated into surprise. Her face went crimson, tingling to the tips of her ears. "I-I'm sorry," she mumbled. Her mouth was parched from the suddenness of feeling flustered. Chris reddened another shade but quickly helped her find her feet again, his hands dropping to his sides. "It's alright," he mumbled, cleared his throat awkwardly and glanced away. There was palpable tension between them, but before she could ask anything else, Afeela ran out of the bus, feeling as though her chest was about to explode. After calming down in the restroom for a few minutes and then splashing cold water onto her heated face, Afeela took a deep breath. She straightened herself and walked over to the cafeteria for a sandwich, making her way back to the bus. As she climbed back, she saw Chris already in his seat, staring out the window. His expression was unreadable, but his presence made her stomach flutter weirdly. She slid into her seat beside him as he gave her a smile. She hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Hey, are you okay? Aren’t you hungry?” she asked, her voice soft and concerning. Chris turned to her and offered a little smile. “Nope, I’m good,” he replied casually. But before he could say more, his stomach said otherwise, betraying him with a loud growl. Afeela raised an eyebrow, “Hmm… Lying isn’t a good thing, you know?” she said, trying not to yell on him for not eating because she might look stupid doing that. Chris looked away, scratching his neck. Without hesitation, Afeela unwrapped the sandwich, splitting it in two pieces. She handed him one half. “Take this,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “But—” he began, only for her to cut him off. “Shh. Nope. I don’t like arguing. Just take it,” she insisted, holding the sandwich closer to him. Chris sighed, giving in with a reluctant smile. “Thank you, Aff~,” he said, taking the offered half. He paused, looking at her with genuine concern. “But... aren’t you hungry? That half piece is not enough for you.” Afeela took a bite of her half and shrugged. “And will that half piece be enough for you? I’m eating, aren’t I? Eat up.” she said lightly, brushing off his concern. Chris frowned slightly, clearly unconvinced. “Still, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take care of yourself.” She glanced at him, her expression softening. “Sharing is caring, especially when it’s with the first person I’ve felt comfortable with in a long time,” she said, her tone sincere. Chris blinked, caught off guard by her words. “First person? Stop lying Aff! First person is me then what about your parents? Your family? Huh?” he asked, his voice quieter. Afeela chuckled, but there was a hint of sadness in her voice. “I don’t lie, Chris,” she said simply, her smile full of pain. Chris observed her for a moment, sensing the vulnerability she tried to mask. He didn’t press further, and they both fell silent… The silence between them wasn’t heavy or awkward or weird; it was kind of a quiet that felt calm, natural, comfortable? Like a pause in a melody that made the next note more meaningful. Afeela leaned back into her seat, nibbling on her sandwich, while Chris did the same, his gaze shifting towards the window. Their quiet bond spoke louder than any conversation could have. As the bus rumbled forward, jerking along the uneven roads, Afeela felt a subtle shift within herself. The weight of her thoughts, usually so oppressive, seemed to lighten a bit. Sitting next to Chris, with his easy presence and kindness, made her feel that the world outside wasn’t as intimidating as it looked like, or what she thought so. She started to imagine the life that awaited her at the university. Would she find friends who truly understood her complex personality? People who wouldn’t just tolerate her quirks but embrace them—her hesitations? Her fears? Her eccentricities? Who would love seeing her be herself and embrace it? Who would never judge the real Afeela… She inhaled deeply, slightly stale yet warm air of the bus filling her lungs, and felt a tiny ember of courage starting to spark inside her. Around her, the other students were laughing and chatting, their voices filled with excitement rising and falling. It was oddly comforting, their energy washing over her like a proper reassurance. She remembered her mother’s words, spoken so many times before: “Afeela, there’s more to life than fear. You can’t grow if you stay inside, Inside your comfort zone forever.” Maybe, just maybe, It was time to finally act on that advice. It was night already. The bus made a wide long turn, and suddenly, the beautiful university campus came into view. Afeela’s breath caught in her throat. The dark purple buildings loomed large and impressive, their architecture charged with the hum of activity. Students hurried across the grounds, towards their dorms. A new wave of unease spilled in her chest, but this time, it wasn’t fear—it was something far more exhilarating. “Are you ready for this?” Chris’s voice broke into her thoughts, startling her. She turned to find him watching her with a knowing smile, his eyes bright with his own anticipation. It was as if he could read her mind. “More than ready,” she replied, surprised at the steadiness in her voice. For the first time in a long while, she felt this confident. The bus came to a stop with a gentle hiss, and the doors opened to a rush of laughter and tired yet excited chatter. Students began filing out. Afeela’s heart pounded in rhythm with the vibrant buzz around her. She tightened her grip on her bag and whispered under her breath, “Here goes nothing.” Chris walked beside her as they stepped off the bus. Together, they walked past the crowd, exchanging polite smiles with strangers and taking in the sheer liveliness of the campus. “Thanks,” she said suddenly, her voice barely audible over the noise. Chris glanced at her, confused. “Hmm? For what?” “For making all this less scary,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing. He grinned, his usual playful glint returning. “Don’t mention it, Aff~. We’re in this together.” She smiled back, and for the first time, the thought of this new chapter didn’t feel so overwhelming. It felt like the beginning of, Something good—something she was finally… Ready to embrace. As the students made their way toward the university entrance, they couldn’t help but be taken aback by the size and beauty of the campus. The pathway leading to the main gates was lined with tall oak and willow trees, their branches forming a thick canopy that cast a golden light over the cobblestones. The gates themselves were made of ironwork, with vines and the university’s emblem—a phoenix rising from an open book—carved into the design. Beyond the gates, the campus stretched out, a vast area of green fields, with fountains scattered around, glistening in the sunlight like sparkling jewels. The main building stood at the center of it all, a perfect blend of old and new. The walls were made of pale stone, with tall windows of stained glass that told stories of discovery and knowledge. Around the edges of the building, thin glass wings extended outward, reflecting the lush gardens surrounding them. The air was filled with the scent of french roses from the carefully tended flower beds, and the soft sounds of students chatting and laughing added a warmth to the place that made it feel alive. As the students entered the building, they were greeted by an entrance hall that was just as impressive. The marble floors were shining under a large chandelier that hung from the ceiling, its crystals catching the light and casting colorful reflections around the room. The walls were lined with portraits of scholars and founders, their faces serious but proud, as if they were watching over the students. A grand staircase curved upward, leading to the different wings of the building, while digital screens displayed messages welcoming the new students. The students were led to a large hall where rows of chairs had been set up. The hall was huge, with high ceilings and walls lined with bookshelves that seemed to go on forever. Banners really decorated the space, and at the front of the room, a stage stood tall, flanked by two massive screens showing the university’s logo. As the students took their seats, the chatter died down, and the principal, Miss Allie J. Kingsleigh, stepped onto the stage. She had a strong presence, with sharp features that softened when she smiled. Dressed in a well-fitted lavender suit, she approached the podium with confidence, and her voice immediately commanded attention. “Good evening, and welcome to your new home,” she began, her voice soft and clear yet strong. “You are standing at the start of a journey that will shape your future, not just as students, but as individuals. Here at Borealis University, we believe in building not only your knowledge but also your character.” She explained the university’s unique approach: a series of tests over the next eight days that would help the staff understand each student’s strengths, weaknesses, and personal growth potential. “These tests aren’t about measuring how smart you are… They’re about finding what truly drives you, what makes you, you,” she said. “They will guide you toward the subjects and paths that are right for you.” Afeela listened closely, her heart beginning to race with hope. For the first time, she felt like she might finally be able to pursue what she wanted, without being forced into something that didn’t fit her. Miss Kingsleigh continued, “If you struggle with any of the tests, don’t worry. There will be tasks and guidance to help you improve and move forward. Failure is not the end; it’s just a part of the process.” The principal ended her speech with a smile. “You are here because you belong here. This is your chance to grow, to learn, and to become the best version of yourself. Take full advantage of it.” The room erupted in applause, the students feeling a renewed sense of purpose. Miss Kingsleigh nodded, then gestured toward the reception area. There, the students would pick up their keys for their dorm rooms. Each room would be shared by four students, creating opportunities for new friendships and experiences. As Afeela stood in line to receive her key, she couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. This was the start of something new, something big. When she got her key, it felt heavier than she expected, as though it carried all the possibilities of what was to come. She turned to Chris, who was standing a few steps behind her. “So, what do you think? Ready for dorm life?” Chris grinned and twirled his key in his hand. “Let’s just hope I don’t end up with a roommate who snores.” Afeela chuckled, feeling the tension in her chest ease. Together, they walked toward the dormitories, ready to dive into this new–Scary? But a fascinating kind of chapter of their lives. It wasn’t going to be easy, But it was going to be worth it.