With a mix of relief and excitement, I hurriedly made my way towards the furthest corner of the library, known to students as The Shade Circle. This section of the library earned its name due to the towering bookshelves that cast a perpetual shadow over a circle of unbelievably comfortable chairs. It was a favorite spot for many, and the perfect sanctuary for those seeking solace or a quiet place to study.
As I approached the rumored ward of silence, my eyes darted around searching for any glimpse of my missing book. And there it was, nestled perfectly on the chair I had occupied earlier. A wave of gratitude washed over me as I muttered, "Thank God! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" The momentary panic and frustration that had plagued me earlier dissipated, replaced by a deep sigh of relief.
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Without wasting another second, I swooped down like an eagle, eagerly reaching for my book. I held it close, as if embracing a long-lost friend. The weight of it reassured me that I was finally back on track, ready to tackle the impending class.
However, a quick glance at my phone shattered my newfound sense of triumph. I had foolishly lost track of time, and now I was egregiously late to my English class. The realization that the classroom lay on the opposite end of the building only intensified my rush. With thoughts of my tardiness plaguing my mind, I hastily gathered my belongings, turning around promptly to embark on a sprint towards the English room. Every stride was purposeful, fueled by the urgency to make up for the time I had lost.
As I finally entered the English classroom, the familiar wave of boredom washed over me. The monotony of the subject seemed ever-present, and today's focus on analyzing Of Mice and Men only further intensified my disdain. Curley's wife, in particular, became a target of my frustration. I couldn't understand why she couldn't simply like the color red without it being dissected and turned into another metaphorical symbol. Not everything in life had to be picked apart and overanalyzed, but it seemed that literature often had a tendency to do just that.
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My thoughts turned inward, contemplating the irony of my favorite color. Orange represented vibrancy and energy, attributes that seemed worlds away from my own persona. I found myself introspective yet guarded, hardly free or sexual like the associations commonly attributed to the color. It served as a reminder that sometimes, our personal preferences defy the stereotypes and expectations placed upon us.
A sense of frustration grew as I pondered the portrayal of characters in literature. Curley's wife, for example, was a character who desperately needed her own identity and a name beyond her relationship with Curley. The lack of agency and depth given to her was disheartening. However, I understood that such grievances were hardly something I could address in my upcoming essay, which was due at the end of the week. Instead, I would be expected to analyze the themes and symbols within the confines of the assigned text, unable to express the larger frustrations I felt with the depiction of female characters.
As I settled into my seat, surrounded by students who seemed to have varying levels of enthusiasm for the subject, I accepted that I would have to navigate through the boredom and limitations of the class. My fingers lightly tapped on the desk, a subtle expression of my underlying restlessness. Amidst the uninspiring discussion and conventional analysis that lay ahead, I made a silent promise to seek solace in my own thoughts and perspectives, knowing that not everything in the world of literature could be easily confined to metaphors and limited interpretations.
Ethan's mischievous whisper caught my attention, and I couldn't help but smile at the familiar sound. Leaning in closer, I turned my seat to face my grinning best friend, Ethan. His sun-kissed complexion provided a striking contrast to my own, even though my recent vacation in Australia had given me a decent tan.
As I faced Ethan, I could feel my heart skip a beat. There was always something about him that captivated me, something beyond just friendship. His charming smile and the way his eyes sparkled with mischief made my heart flutter. I had often found myself fantasizing about what it would be like to be more than just friends.
Ethan's mention of Stacey's inquiry about me in History class caught me off guard. I feigned disinterest, not wanting to reveal my true feelings for Ethan. It was a confusing mixture of emotions – the fear of losing our friendship, the uncertainty of how he felt about me, and the longing for something more.
I desperately wanted to express my feelings to him, to see if there was a chance for us to be more than friends. But the fear of rejection held me back. What if it ruined our friendship? What if he didn't feel the same way? These questions circled in my mind, creating a whirlwind of emotions.
As our conversation continued, I couldn't help but steal glances at Ethan, catching his eye every now and then. His presence alone was enough to fill my world with happiness, but I yearned for more – for a chance to explore the depths of our connection and see if there was a possibility of love.
The conflicting emotions swirled within me, leaving me torn between revealing my true feelings and keeping them hidden. It was a delicate balance, one that weighed heavily on my heart. But for now, I would continue cherishing our friendship, basking in the moments we shared, and hoping that one day, the truth would find its way to the surface.
During my free period, I decided to take some time for myself and indulge in my passion for songwriting. Unfortunately, the music room was occupied by Enterprise Week, which forced me to find an alternative space. I discovered a peaceful spot at The Shade Circle, grateful for the opportunity to immerse myself in writing lyrics and melodies.
Among my closest friends, Ethan, Rachael, and Jeremy, they knew that I enjoyed writing, but they had never seen or heard any of my original songs. My songwriting was a personal and private world, filled with emotions and experiences that were mine alone. Sharing these secrets with my friends felt both terrifying and enticing.
While my friends were aware of my talent as a singer, they had never heard me perform my own songs. I hadn't mustered the courage to share what I had written, fearing judgment or rejection. There was a vulnerability tied to my songs, as they revealed a depth of emotion that I had kept concealed.
Ethan's playful comment about putting the book down and returning to reality struck a chord within me. Deep down, I knew there was a part of me that longed to share my music with others, including my friends. But the fear of exposing my innermost thoughts and feelings held me back.
Contemplating the idea of sharing my songs with Ethan, Rachael, and Jeremy evoked a mix of excitement and apprehension. Would they understand the depth and significance of my lyrics? Would they appreciate the melodies and stories I had crafted? It was a daunting prospect, but also one that could potentially deepen our connections.
For now, I kept my songwriting to myself, finding solace in The Shade Circle and pouring my emotions into the melodies that flowed from within me. The songs remained my secret, my personal way of expressing myself. But the idea of one day opening up and sharing these hidden pieces of me with my friends lingered in the back of my mind, serving as a reminder of the potential road ahead.
