The end of the year carried a strange flavor.
Not quite sweet. Not quite bitter either.
Just that suspended mixture between what is ending and what we're not yet ready to release.
Students were slowly scattering across campus. Some laughed loudly, others took pictures. A few wandered through the hallways, dragging their feet as if they weren't ready to say goodbye.
Abigail stood apart from them all.
A small notebook held tightly against her chest.
Worn. Filled to the very last page. It had been her refuge throughout the year — her outlet, her lifeline.
And today, it was meant to change hands.
She spotted him leaving an administrative building.
Marcus.
He walked with that steady, composed stride she had grown used to. A file in hand, earphones in his ears. That quiet, almost floating serenity of his stood in sharp contrast to the restless buzz around them.
She had watched him pass like this dozens, hundreds of times.
But today, she didn't just want to watch. She wanted to speak.
She waited until he drew level with her. Then stepped forward.
— Mister Marcus?
He stopped. Removed one earbud, then the other. His gaze settled on her — curious, polite, searching for a memory of her face.
— Yes?
She offered a faint smile. It wasn't easy. But it was necessary.
— My name is Abigail.
I'm studying nutrition. First year… well, second now.
I'm not in any of your classes. You probably don't know me. But I've seen you… often. And today, there's something I wanted to tell you.
He nodded slowly, silently. Waiting.
— You're the reason I made it through.
When everything inside me was falling apart. When… when all I wanted was to disappear.
I think that if I hadn't crossed paths with you in the hallways almost every day, I would have lost myself.
He said nothing. His expression remained calm, though a faint uncertainty flickered in his eyes.
— You didn't know. And I didn't want you to know. But… I'm grateful that you existed within my shadows. Even without meaning to. Even without knowing it.
She hesitated. Lowered her gaze, then lifted it again with a gentle, fragile smile.
— I've always admired the calm you carry.
Sometimes I wondered if it was only a façade. An armor.
Or if, deep down, that was truly who you were.
But… in the end, I think I don't want the answer.
What I saw of you was enough.
She drew in a slow breath. It was time.
— I think it's time for me to let go.
This year has shown me that I'm far stronger than I believed.
I need to stop holding on to you in order to heal.
It won't be easy. But thanks to you, I know I can.
She extended the notebook toward him. Slowly. Almost ceremonially.
— This notebook belongs to you now.
I'm not asking you to read it. I just want you to have it.
Because, in truth, it speaks of you more than of anyone else.
He accepted the notebook without a word. A little surprised. A little unsettled. His fingers brushed the worn cover, and he looked back at her, unsure of what he was supposed to say.
But Abigail wasn't waiting for a reply.
— I hope you have a wonderful break.
And… I don't know if I'll see you next year. But somewhere… I hope I do.
Until then… take care.
She offered one final smile. Then turned away.
Marcus remained still, the notebook in his hands, his gaze fixed on the space she had occupied only moments before.