Chapter 2: Chapter 1

It was late afternoon, between three and six o'clock post-meridiem. I envisioned the events last night when my first semester ended, but it comes off a little too vague from top to bottom. The details could only be expressed through my eyes, and my eye, which was supposed to clarify the environment, is now failing me.

Whatsoever, what was majorly important to all of it was a phone call. 

Come to think about it, it’s been months since we’ve been dating. Although our time together is always cut short due to strenuous activities—school, work, and playing around. Even then, we always make use of our schedules to create the best long-lasting memory together. 

They do stick, and somehow, because of this attachment, I’ve been missing her presence these past few days.

Sarah... She's the only person who comes to mind these days. 

A sigh proportional to the magnitude of my concern escapes me. As I sit around with a soft drink on my table, the wrist that is warmly stuck between my chin has become numb.

Anyway, let's get back to the main idea. She merely said, "Nate Bright, meet me at the cafe near the station at five in the afternoon," if I remember correctly.

Despite the fact that I was directly invited, the treatment was a piercing, uncomfortable cold depression. And where was I going to voice my complaints? That’s the one thing I want to know. 

I only know little of that lady’s voice—even the person on the other side of the phone was being cautious. Cautious of what exactly? It’s not like I am completely ignorant of the world around me, and I don’t think I have done anything to create a conspiracy. 

Well, not that I know of or remember anything of the sort. It could be that I did something, but my memory fails to completely tell me the story again. But my confidence is pointing toward my innocence, and this call must be something unrelated to me.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” A crisp voice echoed in my ears. "My name is Mitchell Fowler, and I attended the same high school as you." 

She casually took a seat in front of me without any hesitation. A voice befitting her action, and what’s more, she ordered two beverages without asking me. Looking at her appearance, she wore a light dress like she was on a date, which is why it stood out on a night like this.

“How sweet,” I let out a voice of gratitude. “Although, asking a man late at night… I think I may have a thing for a daring woman.”

“Are you sure you should be saying such a thing when you have a girlfriend?” she responded. 

I laughed cheekily and said, “True enough.” I took a sip from my still-cold soft drink. “So, why did you call me out of here?”

Her clenched left hand—with the wrist lying down on the table—slowly slid in my direction. It opened. What unfolded on that left hand was a piece of paper, but not just any piece of paper. It was a familiar piece of paper that made me remember the past. 

The moment that piece of paper was revealed, it was as if the extroverted soul inside of me was yanked out. I could not even attempt to smile any longer.

“I’ve been trying to reach out to you for a year,” she calmly said without any hint of change on her face. “I want to learn how to write.”

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What, a year? Throughout that year, I don't remember ever checking or using my secondary mail or phone number. I just don't understand why she would search so frantically for me to teach her to write. It’s the modern age. The internet has a wealth of knowledge, and there are also many knowledgeable people all around us.

I asked, curious about her thought process, "Why me, specifically?"

"What do you mean?" she asks, looking down at her feet. "I know you know why. It was your exploits at the cultural festival—they say you won first place in the writing contest. A lot of people, including myself, have read your book, and I definitely understand why you won with the magnificent prose you've written for your audience. When it came to the structure, you expounded the uninteresting with interesting subjects, and when it came to the style of writing, it was a fresh, unique idea that engages the reader."

She had to have been a first-year junior when I graduated. And the cultural festival took me a long time to complete, especially since I wanted to be objective about the entire book. It was more like I was trying to finish the book for the sake of winning rather than having fun.

Again, I am proud of my accomplishments, but that is what kept me from writing. Besides, I've learned to write by insulting people on various online forums. That is something I cannot teach anyone. 

"What about online or in books? They're jam-packed with information that will improve your writing ability." I suggested.

“I have done those, but what I want specifically is you.”

It was a phrase that both confused me and made me spit the liquid out of my mouth. It was such a corny line that I was taken by the way the words were used. Generally speaking, it was a line that would work well in a romantic story.

I can definitely see it happening, but if I were to try to teach her, I wouldn't know where to begin.

“Should you really be making that statement when I am dating someone?”

“I didn't intend it to be flirtatious,” she said.

I chuckled and said, "I was joking."

“Can I have your response, Nate?”

By instructing someone in the use of a pen or keyboard, I gain nothing. However, I can see the fire in her eyes—the will to learn is something that I can just ignore. 

“I'll do what I can, I promise.”

Her lips curled and twitched in response to the wonderful news she had just heard, however faintly. 

The two of us finally established a teacher-student relationship after this point, meeting late at night in a predetermined location and bringing out her potential while learning from her mistakes and other things I haven’t come to know as of now.

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