Page 20 of Dare to Fall

10

Eva

This year had already startedoff on the wrong foot. Only a few weeks in, and most days I’d woken up feeling more lost than ever. Every ounce of motivation I had to keep up with my pre-med classes had flown out the window, and I wasn’t far off from application season. Things were justoffbetween Connor and me. We were like a patched-up quilt. Everywhere I turned there seemed to be another thread of our relationship falling apart at the seams.

But the one thing that was keeping me sane was photography. My camera hadn’t left my bag since the first day of classes, and the SD card was already low on space.

And this was the day I’d been looking forward to all week. I twitched nervously in my seat as I looked around the room at my fellow photography classmates. A girl seated to my right had her light-brown hair pulled up into a high messy bun. Tendrils of her long locks flowed freely around her face. Her mustard-colored tank top clung to her thin frame. She turned to the right to grab something from a leather bag on the floor next to her, and I noticed an intricate tattoo inked into the center of her upper back. It was a beautiful canvas of a barren tree with the moon and stars hanging above it.

She caught me looking at her as she turned back around and gave me a gentle smile. I smiled back shyly and looked to the class syllabus I had printed out last night. The evening hours had flown by as I found myself in a research spiral, taking in all of Dr. Nickolson’s portfolio. He was an absolute genius behind the lens, capturing the pieces of our world that most people overlooked. His work was such a stark contrast to the wide shots I typically took of the scenery. On the trek from my apartment to class this morning, I was inspired to pay more attention to the nooks and crannies of the campus. The thick blades of grass that crept along the cracks in the sidewalk. Cigarette butts, bent and broken, littering the corners of buildings.

A creak of the door sounded from behind me. Butterflies swarmed my stomach with anticipation. This felt right. I was meant to be here, in this moment, despite everything else that was going on in my life. My mind cleared of all the chaos, and I settled into my seat, taking out a pencil and notebook from my bag as the syllabus indicated we were not to use laptops in class until we started learning the editing software. Normally, I would be desperate to have my laptop as a safety net against the boredom that set in during my pre-med classes. But I was thankful there wouldn’t be any distractions for this class.

The scent of sandalwood filled my nostrils as a pair of long, masculine legs clad in dark denim walked past my desk. My eyes trailed up his backside, lingering for just a moment on his perfectly taut ass before sliding up a broad, muscular back. When I finally gazed upon the back of the man’s head, I realized his hair color didn’t match the biography photograph I saw last night showing Dr. Nickolson as having strawberry-red hair.

I looked back to the syllabus and read that Dr. Nickolson was indeed the professor listed. Yet, the man continued to make his way past the row of students and started writing on the whiteboard. I watched intently as a name, in sharp angled letters, appeared across the whiteboard.

Garth Walker.

My brows stitched together as the name rang familiar. I racked my brain for where I might have heard it before. But before I could come to a conclusion, the man turned around and my mouth popped open.

It washim.

The same man who had interrupted my biochemistry class. And the same man whose hazel eyes had haunted my dreams since then.

His gaze landed on me, and my hand shot up in the air. Startled by my own reaction, I looked around the classroom and realized everyone was staring at me. Garth cocked his head to the side with an amused look on his face, and my cheeks flushed under the scrutiny.

“Where is Dr. Nickolson?” I managed to get out.

Garth chuckled as he said, “If you would have given me a moment, I would have told you.”

Fuming, I lowered my hand. He continued to stare at me with that crooked smirk still dancing on his lips. I swallowed against the dryness growing in my throat. His bluntness threw me off guard, and the look in his eyes sent a shiver down my back. Shaking my head in an attempt to clear the fog that crept over my mind, I shifted in my seat and started rummaging through the syllabus papers on my desk.

Damnit. I felt like such an idiot. What the hell was wrong with me? I’d never been this flustered and mentally chaotic in my life. Keeping my head down, I peered back up at him through my lashes. He took two long strides around the large wooden desk in front of the whiteboard. Then, he casually leaned against the desk and crossed his arms.

“As your classmate…” Garth tilted his head slightly as he silently asked for my name.

“Eva. Eva Barnes,” I said through gritted teeth as I swallowed against the mountain of embarrassment rising within me.

“As Eva pointed out, I am not Dr. Nickolson. He had to be out today, so I am covering his first class. My name is Garth Walker, and I’m a mixed-medium artist. Dr. Nickolson and I know each other from our time at Parsons School of Design.”

I bristled at the mention of Parsons. It was one of the most elite art schools in the country, andhehad gone there with Dr. Nickolson. Jealousy rose in me as I thought about how amazing it would be to take classes at an art school, surrounded by creatives. Though, the thought was immediately washed away as I realized that dream would never happen. I was already a senior and well on my way to pursuing medical school. Now was not the time to change my entire career course when I had already invested so much time and money into becoming a doctor.

Tendrils of pain lashed out as a headache started to set in from the stress of all my ruminative thoughts. I rubbed at my temples, trying to ward it off.

Garth continued on, interrupting my thoughts with the deep timbre of his voice. “Let’s go around the room and share why you decided to take this class. Of all the arts, why photography?”

A few of my classmates groaned in protest, but the girl next to me raised her hand, and Garth nodded toward her. “I’ve experienced a lot of loss in my life, and through the loss, I have realized the importance of appreciating the small moments. That’s why I like to take photographs, especially of the everyday events that we all take for granted, because they are the little beacons of hope that life is made up of.”

Her light-green eyes flickered with sadness, but she sat up tall with confidence, like an oak tree during a storm, wavering only but a little against the harsh winds. The scars showed from the fallen branches, but the tree still remained. I admired her candor, and it was clear the rest of the class did too as I glanced around and found everyone staring in her direction, nothing but awe written on their faces.

I looked forward and found Garth smiling from ear to ear. It took my breath away. The way his white teeth beamed against his tan skin and dark beard made him look less intimidating and warmer.

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

“Emilia. Emilia Clarke,” she said.

“Emilia, thank you for sharing that with us. There are no words that can make the loss you experienced go away, but I am sorry you had to endure something so significant at a young age.”

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