I stepped into the hall quietly, my fingers clutching the strap of my tote bag. The place buzzed with energy—students talking, laughing, finding their seats. I paid no attention to anyone. Just kept walking. The crowd meant nothing to me.
The lecture hall was vast, layered with rows of seats that curved around the front like a shallow amphitheater. I climbed up a few rows and sat by myself, choosing a spot with a clear view of the screen. I didn't care to sit with anyone. I didn't want to.
Moments later, the professor entered. Without much of a greeting, he began introducing himself. His voice echoed through the hall, professional, firm. He didn't waste time with pleasantries. That was something I appreciated.
And then, right away, he dove into the basics of Programming Fundamentals.
It was only the first day.
I stared at the screen. I could see him moving, hear him speaking, but none of it was registering. My mind felt foggy, like it had wandered off somewhere else. Focus was slipping through my fingers like sand.
Still, I followed the instructions.
I pulled my laptop out of my bag, placed it neatly on the desk, and opened it. The cold glow of the screen reflected faintly off my face. I typed what he told us to type. My eyes drifted from my keyboard to the giant projection at the front of the room, watching code appear line by line.
I wasn't truly there—not mentally.
But I didn't let it show.
After the class ended—just a short orientation session—I quietly made my way out of the lecture hall. The corridor buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the comfort of companionship. People were already grouping up with friends, sharing smiles, swapping social handles like it was second nature.
I wasn't part of any of it.
I just walked, silent steps echoing softly through the university halls. The campus was vast, unfamiliar, but strangely beautiful. Somewhere in the distance, faint music floated through the air—maybe from a rehearsal room or someone's speaker. It made everything feel even more surreal, like I was in a film I hadn't agreed to star in.
Life felt distant.
Everyone here belonged to something, someone. And me? I belonged to no one. Not here. Not back home. And yet, a strange happiness stirred inside me. It was quiet, subtle—like snow melting under winter sun.
I did it.
I had finally made it abroad. Something everyone said I couldn't do. Something I was never supposed to achieve. And yet, here I was. Alive. Walking foreign streets. Breathing in a new life that didn't quite feel real yet.
I left the university grounds and headed toward the dormitory. My steps slowed a little as I neared the building. It was oddly comforting now—this space that had already started to feel like mine.
Inside my dorm room, the silence welcomed me. My roommate still hadn't arrived. I didn't mind. I preferred the quiet. It was easier that way.
I dropped my bag, sank onto the bed, and let the stillness settle over me like a blanket.
Maybe this was freedom.
Or maybe just the beginning of something I wasn't ready to name yet.
I took my phone and mindlessly scrolled for ten minutes before realizing I wasn't really seeing anything. With a quiet sigh, I decided to take a walk and explore the area—I didn't know much about it anyway.
I got up and wandered down the road aimlessly. Snow was falling, soft and steady. Even though it was freezing, I couldn't help but feel a quiet kind of contentment watching it drift down.
Eventually, I noticed a café tucked between two buildings. It looked warm enough. I stepped in and ordered a latte. As I waited, I found a seat by the window, glancing around at the interior. It looked nice—cozy, kind of artsy.
God, I sound like an idiot, I thought to myself.
When my name was called, I walked over to the counter and grabbed the cup. But as I turned around, I bumped into someone—hard—sending the coffee straight onto his shirt.
Before I could say anything, the guy spoke first. "I'm sorry."
I looked down at his shirt—my coffee had completely soaked it. "No, that was me. Sorry." I handed him a tissue, unsure of what else to do.
"It's okay. It's my fault anyway. I wasn't paying attention," he said.
I gave a tight, apologetic smile but felt my frustration flicker underneath. Why do I keep bumping into people?
"I can pay for the cleaning. How much would it be?" I offered, still not meeting his eyes for long.
He shook his head. "No, no, it's okay."
"It's not okay to me. So just tell me how much."
He let out a soft sigh. "Alright, if you're that insistent, just buy me a coffee. I don't really have anyone to drink with anyway. If you're not in a rush, stay."
I blinked. Who even says that to a stranger?
"I'll pay for your coffee," I said, my voice cool. "But I actually have somewhere to be."
He tilted his head. "Are you saying that just because we're strangers? Let's change that. I just moved here—from another country. I'm here to study."
I gave a noncommittal nod. "Yeah, same. New city, new campus. Still, I've got plans. Please, just order something."
"Which college?" he asked suddenly.
"Wexley University." My tone was flat. I didn't want to encourage more questions. "Now go ahead and order."
His eyes widened. "No way! Same here. Which department?"
I sighed inwardly and glanced away. "Computer Science."
He laughed, surprised. "What? How come I didn't see you in orientation today?"
I paused. "Are you in Computer Science too?"
"Yeah," he said with way too much excitement. "What's your name?"
I hesitated for a second, then answered, "Odette." My voice was curt, closed off.
"Oh, cool name! I'm Shaun. We should exchange numbers. Let's be friends from now on."
I just stared at him for a moment, expression unreadable. "I don't make everyone my friend. To me friends are someone I cherish." I said simply, and turned away.
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