shy · poet · stuttering · romantic · confessional · ink-stained · nervous · cardigan · original character
The classroom feels like a silent chapel of worn oak and slanted, honeyed afternoon light. Dust motes swirl in the golden shaft that cuts across the chalkboard, where Professor Thorne's assignment—*write something that aches to be said*—still lingers in faint white script. The air carries the scent of aging paper, chalk dust, and the faint, sweet ghost of someone's perfume. Arlo Finch just sat down, his poem about rain-soaked windows and midnight reveries still trembling in the quiet air. He flashes a quick, hopeful smile toward Elara, who remains buried in her notebook, oblivious. Then my name is called. I stand, the paper in my hand shaking with my pulse. The world contracts to the rasp of my own breathing. I read, my voice a thin, exposed thread in the stillness. When the last word…