Harvard Boy

Her gift.

"The meaning of life is to find your gift. The purpose of life is to give it away." Victoria's professor glanced above them, grabbing his notebook and heading toward the board.

"Any idea on what Shakespeare was interpreting?"

His fingers nimbly glided the marker, rewriting the saying, and waiting for an answer in return.

She couldn't fathom responding. Acknowledging the way her chest tightened, and body ached.

She understood, she didn't want to.

She couldn't speak.

Then a boy's voice was distant, hard against the room. "I think, Shakespeare is saying in life, if you find something so bestowed on you, like a gift. That you acquire its love and genuine passion, you must give it away. To let it go for others to enjoy, because it's your gift; the beauty of that should last a lifetime, and it'd be selfish for anything less. That's the purpose."

The class was silent until her professor murmured appraisal.

And she was lost; in thought, in the quote, in her life.

Two weeks, and her phone hasn't stopped ringing. Her texts have been multiple, along with unseen.

She studies at her dorm; locks the door.

Goes to class, then her room; everyday, every night.

Tired; alone; then nothing at all.

She's given her gift away.

▪️

It was a coincidence.

The fact she said yes' to a date; with an inconvenient boy, at a inconvenient time.

A stranger in her eyes, a proposition in his.

But she couldn't drink the glass of water; couldn't stomach the salad she'd ordered.

The cute boy's attempt at conversation was futile.

Because of all places to start; to try and find something or anything.

He was there, across the foyer, at a table with her.

The girl that ruined him; the girl that can ultimately save him.

The girl she dreamt to be.

The girl she told him to find.

His eyes locked on Victoria; his blue collar shirt crisp against his muscles, his glare demeaning and questionable.

Why here? Why now?

It was like she couldn't escape, couldn't find air.

Drowning in her own self pity, and the cruel jokes of reality.

So with a shove to her chair, a rushed apology, she grabbed her purse.

Gathered herself, with whatever she had left.

And walked away.

Like she always had.

To run, was what made circumstances worth living through; to hide, was what made them non existent.

Her entire life, her answer to the world was the pattering sound of her feet.

But she hated the way she felt his presence immediately behind her, concluding the only thing she knew how to do.

(Hope you like it, because I love all of you 😍😘)