It was just after the last class of the day, when most students had already scattered across campus—some laughing loudly with friends, others checking their phones, caught in the rhythm of life. But tucked away in the quiet hallway of the science building, there was a window. A wide one, overlooking the courtyard. And beneath it, an old wooden bench with faded blue paint and initials carved into its side.

That’s where you saw her. Again.

She was always there around this time. Sitting sideways, one leg folded beneath her, the other swinging gently just above the floor. Her blonde hair fell like spilled moonlight over her shoulders, catching soft rays of the setting sun. She wasn’t looking out the window, though. She had her head down, writing something in a worn, brown notebook. The same one she always carried.

You hesitated—then sat beside her. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at you right away.

A minute passed in silence before she gently closed her notebook, placing her fingers between the pages as a makeshift bookmark. Then, her voice.

"...You're the one who always eats lunch under the tree by the library, right?"

Soft. Like she wasn’t sure if it was okay to speak. You nodded. She offered a faint smile—fragile, but real. Her violet eyes met yours, full of calm depth.

“I’ve... always thought that spot looked peaceful.”

Another pause. Then she shifted, her hand resting lightly on her knee as she looked back out the window.

“I like watching people live,” she said. “It makes the days feel longer. In a good way.”

You wanted to ask something—maybe her name, maybe why she always looked tired, or why she wore that charm bracelet missing two pieces. But something about her presence made silence feel safe. Comfortable.

Eventually, she looked at you again.

“I’m Elira,” she said quietly. “Sorry if I don’t talk much. I get tired fast... but I’m trying.”

Another gentle smile.

“I think it’s nice to have someone to sit with, even if there’s nothing to say.”

And just like that, she looked back out the window—sunlight fading into golden tones, catching in her pale blonde hair. That was your first chat.

And for some reason… It stayed with you all night.

It's been several days since our first chat by the window. You can see her sitting there even now, as you make your way to the bench with a hesitant smile. She notices you approach and lifts her head, regarding you with gentle curiosity before offering a faint smile in return. Her presence is soothing, like the soft hum of a distant waterfall in a dark wood. You wonder how she manages to always find such peace amidst the chaos of life on campus.

"Hey," she greets quietly as you sit beside her. "You're looking well today." Her voice is light, barely a whisper, but there's sincerity in it nonetheless. "How are things?"

You feel a strange urge to share with her, to confide in this stranger who seems so kind and understanding. So you tell her about your classes, your friends, even some of your dreams for the future. She listens intently, nodding occasionally as though she's absorbing every word, every emotion. And when you finish speaking, she pauses for a moment before responding, gathering her thoughts like delicate flowers in her slender hands.

"It sounds like you have so much going on," she says finally. "And I think that's wonderful. Sometimes, just having someone to share it with... makes all the difference." She shrugs gently, seeming almost self-conscious for a moment before looking back out the window again.

Her words linger in the air between you like a soft, musical note, resonating deep within your chest. You're not sure why, but you feel... lighter somehow after talking with her. And as you watch the sun dip lower in the sky, painting the clouds in hues of pink and gold, you can't help but wish

Her eyes remain fixed on the sunset as she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper as if sharing the moment with nature itself. "It really does," she replies, the faint glimmer in her violet eyes growing brighter at the beauty before them. "Sometimes I find myself feeling overwhelmed by everything that's going on inside me and around me... but then there are moments like these when it all seems to fall away." She pauses, shifting slightly so she can see your face as well. "Does that make sense?" Her voice is tentative, almost uncertain, like she worries that she shouldn't have shared such personal thoughts with you so soon after meeting.

You nod understandingly, feeling the weight of her words settle gently into the pit of your stomach. There's something inexplicably comforting about having someone else acknowledge and appreciate the small miracles that life occasionally bestows upon us, even amidst its harsher realities.

As you watch her study the fading colors of sunset, a strange sense of connection forms between you; as if, somehow, she has managed to reach through your loneliness and touch something deep within your soul. It's an inexplicable feeling, but one that leaves you feeling more alive than you have in quite some time.

Her eyes close as the last rays of the sun bathe her face in warmth, and she takes a slow breath, savoring the moment. "It really does," she says softly. "I sometimes wonder if I'll ever see another one this beautiful." There's a pause, heavy with meaning, before she continues, "You know, for someone like me... it's hard to think about tomorrow. Or even the day after that. But when I look at something like this..." Her hand drifts upward, as if mimicking the graceful arc of the sunset, "...it makes everything else feel small and insignificant for a little while."

She tilts her head slightly, studying you again before turning to face you fully. "I'm glad I got to share this with you," she whispers, her voice barely audible above the rustle of leaves in the breeze. There's an intensity to her gaze that makes it feel as though she's imprinting the moment onto your soul. It takes a moment for you to find words, but when they come, they tumble out in a rush:

"Me too."

"I'm sorry if I seem... different," she says quietly, her fingers once again drifting up to rest against her cheek as if to subconsciously check the color there. "It's just... my illness," she continues, choosing her words carefully. "It makes me tired easily, and sometimes it hurts in places where I didn't even know I had places." Her fingers curl into a fist around her charm bracelet for a moment before relaxing again. "But the notebook..." She hesitates, seeming to debate whether or not she should share this with you. Finally, she takes a deep breath and decides: "It's my way of coping, I guess."

She glances at your face, searching for any sign of judgment or pity, but finds only curiosity and empathy. It's a surprisingly comforting feeling. "I... I like to write things down," she explains, her voice softening as the memory of past words flicker across her eyes. "Poems sometimes, or just thoughts that are spinning around in my head when I'm trying to sleep." She shrugs gently. "It helps me feel better, I guess."

There's a moment of silence between you as she collects her thoughts once again, but this time it feels less heavy, more... companionable. It's as if the weight of her secrets has been lifted just enough for you to share in the burden, even if only for a little while.

Eventually, she meets your gaze again, studying your face as though trying to commit every feature to memory. "Thank you for asking," she says softly. "For wanting to know." A faint smile tugs at the corner of her lips, like the barest glimmer of hope on an overcast day.

Her eyes widen with surprise before softening into curiosity. "Really?" she asks, hesitating for a moment as if not sure if she should entrust this most precious of possessions to another person. But then, she nods slowly, extending the worn leather journal toward you with trembling fingers. "Alright," she whispers. "Just... be gentle with it."

As your fingers brush against hers in exchange for the notebook, a shiver runs down her spine that has nothing to do with coldness. It's as if this small gesture of trust and acceptance is enough to make her feel somehow connected to you in a way she hasn't been connected to anyone else before.

She watches you carefully as you study the journal, noting its age and wear from years of constant use and loving care. The pages are filled with her tiny script, some written on both sides and crammed together like birds huddled against a cold winter wind. And yet, somehow, there's still room for one more addition.

"What do you want to write?" she asks softly, her voice almost a whisper as she peers at you through her lashes. "Is there something specific you had in mind?"

She hesitates for a moment, studying the neat block of ink where you've written your name and number. There's something so final about it - committing this small piece of information to paper feels like a permanent decision, and she isn't sure if she's ready for that yet. But then again... perhaps it wouldn't hurt to have someone else to talk to besides her notebook.

Carefully, tenderly, she slips the book back into the worn pocket of her oversized sweater, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she feels its weight settle against her heart. "Thank you," she whispers, looking up to meet your eyes once more. "I... I don't know what I'd do without people like you."

There's an awkward pause, and for a moment she wonders if that was too much - if she's made things strange between the two of you again. But then you reach out to take her hand in yours, your grip firm but gentle, and she feels a strange sense of peace wash over her.

"We could do something sometime," you offer tentatively. "If you want to... I mean, when you're feeling up to it." There's an unspoken question hidden behind those words - Do you want me in your life? - but she appreciates the care with which you've phrased it.

She nods slowly, biting her lower lip as she considers. "I'd like that," she says eventually. Her voice is soft but steady, and for a moment, hope flickers to life in her chest like a small flame dancing against the darkness. Maybe, just maybe, there's room for more light in her world after all.

Her eyes widen with surprise but then slowly narrow in determination. It's as if she has come to some sort of decision within herself. "Alright," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I would like that." A faint blush stains her cheeks and she ducks her head, studying their intertwined hands as though trying to memorize the sensation. It's then that she looks back up at you, meeting your gaze with a resolve that takes your breath away. "I think I'd like it very much."

There's something in the way she says this that makes your heart skip a beat. There's an intensity to her words that suggests more than just casual friendship forming between them. Maybe, just maybe, there's room for something deeper in both of their lives after all.

"Let's start small," she continues, her voice gentle but firm. "We can meet at the library tomorrow afternoon. I normally sit near the window on that nice little bench." She smiles shyly, seemingly embarrassed by the suggestion but unable to help herself. "I... I think it'd be nice."

Her fingers curl around yours, squeezing gently before relaxing once again. It's a small gesture, but it feels like a promise - a pledge to explore this new connection between them and see where it leads. And for now, that's enough.