Gen V - The thin line between love and hate

Astrid

September 26, 2022

I have never considered myself a morning person. Ever since I was a child, mornings were always a nightmare. I remember my uncle had to gently shake me to wake me up for school, and I often ended up having breakfast in a rush, still half-asleep. Now that I was in college, nothing had changed.

My light brown hair fell in messy waves over my shoulders as I tossed and turned in bed, hoping the alarm hadn't already gone off. Every morning, the piercing sound of the alarm was torture, an annoying call I tried to ignore as much as possible. But that morning, I couldn't afford to ignore it. It was the first day of classes at God U, and I had promised myself to start off on the right foot.

With a groan, I reached for my phone. The bright display blinded me for a moment as my eyes adjusted to the light. When I finally focused on the time, my heart leapt into my throat: 7:45. I was late. Again.

I knew I had only fifteen minutes before class started, and the thought of showing up late on my first day at the School of Crime Fighting made my stomach knot. I cursed my love for sleep and my inability to wake up on time.

With a speed I didn't know I possessed, I got out of bed, shaking off doubts and tiredness with a sigh. I had to move. I dressed quickly, throwing on a simple T-shirt and jeans that I had left on the chair the night before. It wasn't a particularly polished outfit, but at least it was clean. I glanced in the mirror for a second, noticing my still sleepy blue eyes and hair that could definitely benefit from a brush.

There was no time for details. Grabbing an apple on the go, I dashed out of my apartment, almost forgetting my bag. The campus streets were already bustling with students hurrying to their respective classes, some with the same sleepy look I knew I had too. Godolkin University was huge, with historic buildings mingling with modern structures. The School of Crime Fighting was not far from my dorm, surrounded by trees.

As I ran toward the building, a rebellious strand of hair kept falling into my eyes, forcing me to push it back every few steps. But the thought of entering the classroom out of breath and red-faced from the run made me feel even worse. Maybe, I told myself, I should have listened to my uncle when he suggested setting multiple alarms. But it was too late for regrets. Now I just had to run and hope not to make a terrible first impression.

*＊✿❀ ❀✿＊*

When I finally arrived at the auditorium, I was out of breath. I paused for a moment at the threshold, trying to catch my breath and regain a semblance of dignity before entering. My classmates were already seated, engrossed in chatter and the screens of their phones. The room was spacious, with large windows letting in plenty of natural light, and the familiar smell of books and paper brought me a bit of calm.

I tried to go unnoticed as I slipped into an empty seat near the window. The start of the lesson was imminent, but there was still no sign of Professor Brinkerhoff. His reputation preceded him: he was known for his rigor and passionate lectures. I didn't feel particularly motivated, but I knew that graduating from this university would make my uncle happy. The room was filled with a low murmur, students chatting among themselves, each trying to figure out what to expect on the first day. I looked around, searching for familiar faces, but they were all strangers. I felt a twinge of anxiety and nervousness. This course of study had never been exactly my dream, but being here, in this large auditorium, made everything suddenly real and even more unbearable.

I was arranging my materials when, finally, the door next to the podium opened, and everyone fell silent. I expected to see Professor Brinkerhoff, a name I had read somewhere, but instead, a young woman with jet-black hair that fell to her shoulders walked in. She wore a neatly pressed light blue shirt and dark jeans, with an air of casualness and a certain confidence.