Blooming flowers and power songs

Time tiptoed through every passing day, sunrise chasing sunset over and over like children in a game.

The nights had been painted with inky silence, punctuated only by the occasional barks of lonely dogs, and the rustles of curious critters. And the dawns cracked open the darkness, a brushstroke of gold against the canvas of the sky, sending its soft light creeping into my room.

This particular dawn, though, felt different. It felt perfect like the world had held its breath, waiting for this very moment. The air pulsed with anticipation, every grain of sand shimmering with hidden possibility. The sweet melodies of waking birds drifted in through my window and faded out, replacing the whispering wind and the lullaby of distant crickets.

I can never forget how perfect it felt. I rubbed my bleary eyes and stood at the window, arms outstretched to the light, my heart a hummingbird trapped in my chest. It was ethereal, and if I was going to begin a phase of my life that I didn’t know about, I had no idea. All I knew was that it was the first day of my sophomore year, and it was going to be perfect.

Not perfect in some polished, magazine-worthy way, but perfect in its own raw, unpredictable, heart-bursting way. It was a blank canvas, ready for me to paint with the colors of my courage, my dreams. And as I watched the sun crest the horizon, bathing the world in its golden glow, I knew, deep down, that whatever lay ahead, it would be eventful, like watching children in a game.

I wore my hair in a cute bun, giving way to playful strands framing my cheeks. I applied mascara, eyeliner, and my soft pink lip gloss painted a smile I almost felt before it bloomed. I walked out of my apartment, my bag slung over my shoulder, listening to upbeat music on my earphones, a perfect mix of blooming flowers and power songs to set the mood for the year.

First days are that important.

***

7:50 AM. The air around the campus entrance hummed with delicate energy, a mix of crisp autumn leaves and quiet hope. Even with the murmur of students hurrying past, I felt a tingle run through my fingers and my expression shifted into a wide grin. Back here, within these hallowed halls, surrounded by the promise of knowledge and the echo of countless dreams, I was home again. I stopped for a moment and spun around, taking in everything around me. On that spot I made a promise to myself – I would give every fiber of my being to my studies and I would make sure I achieve everything that the past years have prepared me for.

I slipped into my lecture room, chose a seat in the middle row, near the wall and sat quietly. Not in front of the class since I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself, and certainly not at the back because I wanted to take my studies seriously. The clock ticked to 7:58 AM.

The sudden clattering of chairs beside me drew the entire class’s attention to me. My peaceful book bubble burst like a popped balloon and I blinked, momentarily blinded by the spotlight suddenly thrust upon me.

It was a girl, but I was too furious to pay any attention to her looks. My eyes drifted to her right hand flimsily holding a phone and headset on her head blasting tunes I could probably name from the first beat. “Oops!” she shrieked, her voice somehow louder than the music itself. “So sorry, didn’t realize I was that loud!”

Before I could even respond, she plopped into the seat beside me with a wide smile plastered on her face. “Becky’s the name!” she declared, still smiling as if she lacked a sense of volume. “Is this seat taken?”

Again, before I could stammer out a reply and get her to sit elsewhere, she extended a hand, her grip firm and surprisingly soft. “It’s to meet you…” she quickly glanced at my notebook for my name and completed her sentence. “Leila.”

My mind, still reeling from the sonic attack, could only manage a weak, “Um, hi.”

“Good morning, class!” The professor’s voice cut through the chatter like a knife through hot butter. It was 8:00 AM sharp, and suddenly, everyone sat a little straighter, attention snagged by the air of importance clinging to his words.

“I’m Professor Smith, head of the finance department,” he boomed, “and I have some big news for you all.” A murmur rippled through the room, the class’s curiosity palpable.

“This semester,” Professor Smith continued, his eyes glinting with a mischievous glint, “things are getting real!” A collective gasp filled the air as he elaborated. “You’ll all be taking mandatory finance classes, learning the secrets of the money game,” he announced, and a mix of groans and excited whispers filled the room. “But that’s not all!” Professor Smith grinned, relishing the suspense. “You’ll get the opportunity to intern at one of the top six companies in the field, handpicked by yours truly.”

The whispers became a collective whoosh of excitement. Internships at top companies? That is the kind of opportunity that could land you a dream job after graduation. And to make things more exciting, Professor Smith gestured towards a tall figure standing beside him.

“And guess what?” he beamed. “Joining us today is the CEO and founder of one of those very companies, a titan of the financial world, and a proud alumnus of this very institution!”

And present here with me today is the CEO and founder of one of the companies, who also happens to be an alumnus of our esteemed institution.”

All eyes turned to the man beside Professor Smith. He was tall and charismatic, with a smile that could charm your savings into investing in anything. The entire class gasped and wowed in admiration and he nodded, continuing his speech.

“It is also my pleasure to announce to you all that in honor of the university’s 100th anniversary, he has offered to take five special classes, providing you all with a once in a lifetime opportunity to learn first-hand from the most credible, youngest expert in the field.”

The entire class erupted In applause as the young man confidently strode to the front of the room, ready to address us. He scanned the class, a quiet smile playing on his lips, and the moment he spoke, a hush fell like a heavy curtain.

“Thank you very much,” he started, his voice carrying a surprising level of authority for someone who appeared to be not much older than us. “You are already aware of the important details. If need any clarifications, please ask your questions now, as I will not be available to offer you an audience outside of my working hours.”

He paused, scanning the room with a steely gaze that seemed to lock onto every one of us. We sat in stunned silence, and I, in particular, found myself captivated by his presence, a mixture of awe and curiosity swirling within me.

“If there are no questions,” he continued, breaking the spell of silence, “I must take my leave.”

He started to walk away until Becky interrupted, her voice ringing out clearly.

“Excuse me,” she said in her high-pitched voice, and he turned abruptly, stopping to face me.

He spun around, his gaze locking onto mine. He was looking straight into my eyes, and time seemed to stop its relentless march for a moment. It was a blink of an eye, a sliver of a second, yet it felt like forever. An odd shiver snaked down my spine, a feeling I couldn’t quite place. I had felt this way once before, butterflies fluttering in my stomach, a warmth blooming in my chest, with a strange familiarity that defied logic. “I don’t even know this man,” I murmured to myself, the words a desperate attempt to regain control of my inexplicably wayward emotions.

Thankfully, Becky spoke again, her voice, a welcome distraction breaking our eye contact. “Over here, sir! You haven’t told us your name yet.” Her question broke the spell, pulling me off the edge of whatever strange reverie I had fallen into.

He gave a straight two-worded response, “Alex Vance”, and he left the class dead quiet for minutes even after he had left.

As the day progressed, a steady stream of lecturers and school officials flowed in and out of the lecture hall, each one weaving their own thread into the tapestry of our academic journey. Their voices blended into a familiar chorus of expectations and guidelines, a lullaby I have been conditioned to hear since my first day in elementary school. “Attendance is worth points, improper conduct on campus is punishable, regular drug tests will be conducted, no illegal activities will be tolerated,” a deluge of other instructions that I have heard a million times since freshman year.

Of course, the real mind-thief of the day was Mr. Vance. I could barely get the thought of him out of my mind. My brain spent the rest of the day spinning in its personal hamster wheel, desperately trying to figure out why I had such a strong sense of déjà vu.

His name was so unfamiliar on my tongue and his face, with its perfect symmetry and features, didn't tug on any part of my memories, but his eyes… the way they started into mine was so familiar. The way he moved with effortless grace was a silent symphony my body longed to mimic, and then there was his voice, a low rumble that vibrated down my spine.

Maybe… just maybe… it held the echo of another, a distant memory from a forgotten corner of my life. But try as I might, I couldn’t conjure a single face, a single conversation, that matched the nobility that resonated in his each spoken word. It was a maddening puzzle, each new piece only deepening the mystery, each unanswered question stoking the fire of my fascination. I knew, with a certainty bordering on obsession, that there was more to Mr. Vance than met the eye. And until I unravelled the enigma he presented, I might find sleep about as elusive as a desert mirage.

Night came I proved myself right. All I could think about was this man and to make matters worse, he was going to be my lecturer for the next five weeks.

As audacious as it was, I couldn’t help but imagine what his touch would feel like. The thought of his strong hands slithering over mine, caressing and folding them was driving me crazy and all I could do was close my eyes and take deep breaths.

I could barely control the lust I felt, and my entire body was giving in, blood pumping to all the right places and hot moistness welling up.

I felt ecstasy like I had never felt before, my whole body quivered under my touch, and under his influence as though he was aware and present. Waves of pleasure washed over me until I was overcome with euphoria, and contentedly, I drifted into sweet, deep slumber.

The next morning, before the roosters even considered crowing, I woke up with my brain on fast-forward, replaying last night’s events like a broken record. I couldn’t bring myself to prepare for school because of how embarrassed I felt. I sat in front of my mirror, still unclad except for the duvet I had wrapped around myself, and I stared into the sleepy eyes of a girl who had spent the night fantasizing about a man she had just met.

My gaze fell on the half-empty glass of wine by my nightstand and the almost empty bottle by my bed, my guilty accomplices. “Wow, I must have been hammered last night,” I mumbled to myself in a bid to feel better.

Just the thought of seeing him again, the man who haunted my drunken fantasies, made my face flush. My stomach did a nervous flip-flop. There was no way I could go to school today. I crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over my head, feeding myself the excuse of a hangover, “I’ll have to miss school today…..sadly”, I muttered to myself with a faint smirk on my face.

As much as I was ashamed to admit to myself, my memories of that night were fun and I thought about them again until I fell asleep, only to be jolted out of my slumber by loud knocks on my door.

It was almost midday.