Page 7 of Back to Willow

After navigating the long halls and up the staircases, I finally find the first class of today: Portuguese.

In this degree, we not only have to relearn the grammar side in a way that’ll make us understand how to teach it but also the literature part of it. I’m unbelievably excited about all of it.

When I was younger, I wanted to be a biologist, but Dylan opened my eyes to my true calling. It was like a lightbulb switched in my brain when I realised the joy I had and still have when teaching him. I fell in love—at least, in the only way I still can.

Helping kids and giving them—as much as I can—the right tools to use in their adulthood fills what’s left of my heart.

When I reach the classroom, I am met with plain white walls and a brown wooden floor. On one half of the room, tables and chairs are lined up, while just one single desk sits on the opposite side in front of a whiteboard and a projector.

I notice a few seats still available, so I head to the vacant ones around the middle area. Within a few minutes, the room slowly fills up as more students arrive and sit down.

I’ve got my head in my notepad when a girl stops at the seat right next to mine. “Hey, is this seat taken?”

“Oh, no. Go ahead.” I encourage her with a smile.

“Are you a freshman?”

“I’m Willow. And yes.” I chuckle. “I’m a freshman, and you?”

“Oh god, yes. Can’t you tell? I’m so nervous.” She giggles too, and it makes me smile in response. “Aren't you?”

“I guess I should be? But oddly enough, I’m not.” She’s taking her notebook out of her bag, so I take a moment to glance at her.

Dark chocolate locks frame her tanned face, and plump red lips compliment her flawless makeup. She is gorgeous, that’s for sure. While I am much smaller and on the thinner side, this girl is all long legs and toned muscles.

People often tell me I look frail and ill, even though I’m not. It seems like raising a toddler, working, and being busy preparing everything to study took a toll on me. I wonder what adjective they’ll add when my exams start…

“So, are you from here?”

Her question pulls my attention back to her. “Em, no. I come from the south, a town called Évora. Do you know it?”

“Yes,” she exclaims. “My grandmother is from there. I used to spend a lot of my summers there growing up.”

I am not from Évora. Though, it has been my home ever since I was sixteen.

“How come we’ve never met?” she asks.

“Uhm, I didn’t go out much because I…I have been working full time for a few years now.” I stumble a little on my words, not overly keen on disclosing my life story just yet.

I may have grown stronger throughout the years in some regards, but I’ll still avoid confrontation like the devil runs away from the cross. He was the strong one in that department. He wasn’t afraid to tell someone—no matter who it was—to fuck off. Unfortunately for my pathetic personality, conflict is still one of the few things that makes me anxious. Panic attacks are no longer as frequent, but they do still come out once in a while.

“Work?” Her eyebrows furrow. “For how long have you been working? I mean, your whole stance is so mature, but you seem so young!” Her ability to be invasive in an innocent way is really sweet.

“I am twenty two,” I answer. “I know it’s kind of late to start college, but life got in the way, and I had to postpone.” When the silence stretches, I add, “I made it, though.”

“Hell yes, girl,” she exclaims with a pump of her fist. “That’s what women are made of; we persevere and never give up!” she hollers a little too loud at the same time the professor enters the classroom. I don’t look around, but I bet everyone is glaring at us.

“Shhh!” someone hisses from behind us.

I can’t help but turn around to the thick-glasses framed face and smile guiltily. Her face is twisted in an annoyed glare, her greyish eyes throwing darts at me with sleek but dark makeup, giving her big round eyes a smoky and cat-like aesthetic. Her straight hair is jet black, completely matching the hues of her clothing—the only exception being the greyish jeans. She is intimidating.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

Next to her sits a guy. He is the complete opposite, with dark brown hair and honey-coloured eyes. Loose and light blue jeans, topped with an oversized T-shirt and a tiny hoop earring. He is leaning back with a relaxed stance and a smirk gracing his lips. He’s cute and charming, to an extent.

“It’s fine,Willow.” He smiles back, earning an elbow from the girl right next to him.

My cheeks burn from the embarrassment. So, they just heard ourentireconversation.

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