The Myth of Forever

CHAPTER 1

If only I had superpowers, I'd choose mind-reading abilities. Why? Simply to know what people really think of me. What lurks in their minds when they stop by and smile? I want to recognize whether their kindness is genuine or just a facade.

People say I have a bit of an attitude, but I refuse to believe them. Just because I'm strong-willed and know what I want doesn't mean my decisions should be opposed. That's plain bullshit.

I've always been the kind of person who stands her ground, unafraid to voice her opinions. It's not arrogance; it's confidence. If anything, it shows that I care. So what if I don't back down easily? I won't let others dictate my choices.

I know I have social responsibilities—I need to be nice to fit in. But sometimes, certain behaviors are simply part of who I am. They define me as a person, and no amount of pressure to conform can change that.

The classroom was quiet; everyone just left to have lunch, the muted hum of chatter was slowly fading. I took this moment to clear my mind, settling into my seat with a well-worn book about leadership in my hands, its pages slightly yellowed from use. I found solace in the words, each sentence pulling me deeper into a world of inspiration and strategies, a welcome distraction from the chaos that usually filled our days.

Suddenly, an annoying voice broke my solitude.

"Ranielle! Will you do the interview? It's just 15 minutes, I promise!" Bab exclaimed, her tone a mix of urgency and enthusiasm. She leaned over my desk, her curly hair tumbling across her forehead in a wild halo that somehow suited her carefree spirit. The vibrant colors of her floral blouse contrasted sharply with the drab classroom walls, making her stand out even more.

I glanced up from my book, half-expecting her to be joking, but the earnestness in her eyes told me she was serious.

"Bab, you know I hate this kind of thing," I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I turned my attention back to the book, pretending the words were more captivating than the conversation. "You asking me bunch of questions on live school radio? It's not exactly my idea of fun."

The edges of the pages crinkled under my grip as I tried to focus, but I could feel Bab's presence lingering, her energy refusing to dissipate. She leaned in closer, her expression a mix of determination and mischief.

"Come on, it'll be fun! Think of it as a chance to share your amazing insights with the whole school," she insisted, her voice rising with enthusiasm. "Besides, you never know—maybe you'll inspire someone!"

"Inspire my ass," I muttered, rolling away from her and turning to my side in a futile attempt to block her out. "Go find someone else to annoy."

"If you weren't the student council president, I wouldn't waste a single breath on you," she complained, plopping down onto my desk with an exasperated huff. Her curly hair bounced as she settled into a more comfortable position.

This time, I ignored her completely, pretending she didn't exist at all. I focused intently on my book, hoping to drown out her voice and retreat into my own thoughts.

But Bab wasn't having any of it. "Well, this is Professor Gene's idea after all. Are you really going to let him down?" She shoved her face into my line of sight, blocking the words on the page and forcing me to look at her.

"And you're stupid enough to listen to that old fart?" I said, raising an eyebrow at her, a smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. The playful jab was intended to lighten the mood, but I could see her expression harden slightly.

Bab shot me a look of mock indignation before quickly getting to her feet. "I hate you!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of frustration and playful annoyance. She stomped her way toward the door, her curls bouncing with each determined step.

I couldn't help but chuckle softly as I watched her retreat. Despite the tension between us, I appreciated her tenacity. She always managed to push me out of my shell, even when I resisted.

"Don't take it personally!" I called after her, but I knew she wouldn't turn back. Instead, I returned to my book, a mix of amusement and annoyance swirling within me.

"And why would you call me an old fart?" a deep, low voice echoed from behind me, sending vibrations through my chest. The tone was playful, and I turned to find Gene standing there, arms crossed and a bemused expression on his face.

He was tall and well-built, yet his presence wasn't as intimidating as that of some other professors. Perhaps it was because I had known him personally long before he took on the role of a professor. Although he was the youngest faculty member at the university, he was still ten years older than me. He was famous among the female students for his charm and good looks, but to me, he was always just an old fart.

"Well, YOU ARE OLD to me," I finally replied, a playful edge in my voice as I glanced up at him and then quickly back to my book, trying to shield myself from the warmth of his gaze.

The sun dance across his eyeglasses, casting subtle patterns of light on my table, as if amplifying the tension in the air. 

"Look," he said, settling down beside me. I didn't bother to look at him, my focus still on my book.

"I know you're scared to talk in front of a lot of people," he concluded, his tone calm and understanding.

"What?" I cut him off, my irritation flaring. "I'm not scared of people. I don't give a shit about anybody." I furrowed my brows, narrowing my eyes at him, trying to convey my defiance.

His calm demeanor only fueled my frustration. How dare he assume he knew me so well? The last thing I needed was a lecture about overcoming fears from someone who seemed to have it all figured out.

"Hey, watch your language; you're speaking to your professor," he reminded me, maintaining his calm demeanor despite my outburst.

I sighed in annoyance, rolling my eyes. "Then why don't you go do the interview if you want it so badly?" I suggested, crossing my arms defiantly. The frustration bubbled inside me, and I could feel the heat creeping up my cheeks.

He chuckled softly, unfazed by my irritation. "As tempting as that sounds, I think it's your turn to step into the spotlight." His steady gaze met mine, and I could sense that he wasn't going to let this go easily.

When you took on the role of president of the student council, you also signed up for this," he said, gently taking the book from my hands.

I shot him a glare, feeling a mix of irritation and disbelief. "You know I can do this all day, and I probably seem more annoying to you than Bab does," he continued, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

His confidence was infuriating, and I couldn't help but wonder how he managed to remain so composed while I felt like I was about to explode. It was one thing to deal with Bab's relentless enthusiasm, but this was a whole different level of persistence.

"Fine, just get the hell out of my face," I said, rolling my eyes as I snatched my book back from his hand.

He quickly stood up, a cheeky smile spreading across his face as he tapped me on the shoulder. "See you at the radio station, let's say 4 o'clock?"

I nudged his hand off my shoulder and pretended I didn't hear him, focusing intently on the pages of my book. My heart raced, torn between annoyance and a flicker of curiosity about what the interview might entail.

"Seriously, Ranielle," he added, his tone light but persistent.

I waved my hand at him, signaling him to go away, and I was relieved when he finally did. Watching him walk away, I felt a mix of triumph and lingering annoyance. The tension in the air dissipated, allowing me to return to my book, grateful for the momentary silence.

Still, a part of me couldn't shake the anticipation of the upcoming interview. I sighed, trying to focus on the words in front of me, but my mind wandered back to the interaction.