Chasing Second Chances

a M

rumpled maps, upperclassmen pretending they had their lives together, and the occasional skateboarder weaving through crow

tudents outside Ridley Hall. Her favorite worn- out Converse squeaked against the wet pavem

ng: Storytelli

m 3

00

mething about the first day of a new class that always made her stomach flutter. Maybe it was the possibility-

them with a quick run of her fingers. No use. Lena was used to looking

t as the bell chimed fro

iteboard filled with scribbled quotes from famous authors. The smell of old books mixed with coffee was o

disappear. She liked being close enough to the professor to seem

mained empty, until the

walke

is B

road-shouldered, dark hair that curled just enough to look effortlessly cool, and

e he had secrets, stories, and maybe some scars hidden behind that leather jacket. Oh, he

t smile at anyone, and dropped

cou

ook at her, didn't say a word. Just pulled out a black Moleskine notebook and a pe

had the kind of presence that filled a room without effort. Late forties, black

essays. It's about story. Truth. The messy, flawed beauty of fi

ne m

names. Go around. First name, what you love to

She hated icebreakers. They

arted, moving clockw

cleared her throat and

er themes. And the last book that broke my heart was A Little Life." She didn't a

ded thoughtfully.

was hi

to her didn

write whatever keeps me awake at night. L

d. A few ey

an approving nod. "A cla

ldn't decide if it was genuine or a line designed to sound deep. But his voice-damn-

cises. Lena found herself stealing glances at Adonis's notebook. His pencil mov

ing and her fingers were stained with ink. She stood,

rtners. You'll be giving each other f

me people paired immediately, obv

is just as he turned to

up close, almost unnerv

is over with?"

d. "Charmin

ged numbers

golden leaves scattered across the lawn. Lena walked slowly, sipping her coffee and tr

r tiny off-campus apartment, a steaming mug of te

xt p

wn Nu

hing you've written. I'll

t to th

ed. Sending someone your writing

signed u

e

moke. It's a short story. Let me

d hit send before she co

ater, her phon

on

rrible. Actuall

e

High

on

escape? That was clever. I wouldn't have writ

ed at th

er feedback that quickl

reply, another me

on

messy. Just... read it

-Dust & Silence. The title

clic

her laughter in the smoke. The writing was jagged and honest, like a w

e

t beautiful. You write like

on

hat's t

moment, something shifted between them-two strangers connected by words,

one, her fingers hove

e

ok

rom a place of pain. Maybe because she wanted to know more. Or maybe it was the way

s danced for

disap

ret

on

riting just makes

ing her off or if it was his version of being honest. Eith

e

ng makes the nois

on

ac

started, Lena felt... something new settle between them. Not

them. The city lights outside her window blinked lazily, and the hum o

hone vibra

on

ch other's stories in person. Coffee sho

bli

meet? That wa

e

urday wor

on

lace on Elm calle

e

be

faster than it should've. It wasn't a date. It

t it. That strang

was going to be far more complic

day M

menu, mismatched chairs, walls covered in indie band posters and old typewriters. The

ady nursing a cup of black coffee. He wore a plain black tee under a denim jacket. Simple. Eff

d her tote bag on her s

liding into the ch

e. "You want

ready caffeinat

t of paper from his noteboo

ted. "Old school

ou feel the words mo

weren't vague compliments. They were useful. Specific. Honest. Things like "Try show

most l

this," she sai

a lot. And I've bee

writing, or... hiding in coffee

o a smirk. Just for a

inted his story, scribbled thoughts all over it, even c

ilence, his eyes skimming

said. "I didn't thin

y n

uff and say, 'Wow, that

t was sad. But it wa

s something different in it n

ena learned he liked writing late at night, that he never let anyone read his poetry, and that he grew up in a small town

vel, how she'd been writing since she was ten, and how her

that," Adonis said. "Your writi

ot because of what he said, but how he

lingered in that awkward post-conversation silence wh

against his coffee cup.

d. "Yeah.

t look back. But she felt his