Young Writers Society

With laughter still bubbling in our throats, our waiter approached, and we quickly placed our orders before continuing to giggle. After we finished eating, we hugged goodbye before departing. Once back on campus, I feared my father’s disapproval. I passed various industrial-looking buildings with black beams and large windows paired with vivid gardens and greeneries. My surroundings reminded me of the conflict in my life, contrasting yet existing together. Arriving at a business class, I distracted myself through the lecture, taking diligent notes. After being dismissed, I walked towards the exit and found Jake waiting outside. He gave me a reassuring smile as I approached.

“Hey, how was your lunch with your sister?” He wrapped his arms around me, and his hefty, athletic body swallowed mine.

“It… was good… Izzy always knows what to say best.”

Pulling away from him, I realized that college was not the only thing I considered changing. Why were we together? Was it because he checked boxes that I didn’t create?

His spikey hair paired well with his preppy attire. He wore a green polo neatly tucked into his slacks, the color of his shirt making his attentive blue eyes stand out.

My eyes darted across his face with uncertainty. He, noticing my hesitance, gently cupped my face. “Hey, what’s wrong? You seem lost in your thoughts.”

I looked up at him, my eyes searching for the right words to convey my feelings. He smiled cautiously, his eyes darting back and forth across mine. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Taking a deep breath, I looked into his bewildered eyes. “I am lost in general…” As he withdrew his hands, my eyes averted from his face, fixating instead on the ground beneath me. “I’m not sure who I am or what I want anymore… I’ve been so focused on making everyone else happy that I’ve never considered what makes me happy…”

Unease alarmed the features of his face. His intense brows furrowed, forming a gentle yet perceptible crease on his forehead. His eyes, which had been loving before, now widened in contemplation. The corners of his lips, previously amiable, now drooped above his cleft chin. His jaw clenched, a reflexive response I knew well when he was upset. The shadow of the tree nearby cast gloom behind him, giving him a darkened appearance.

As I looked at his face, the memories of our years together resurfaced—football games he played while I cheered in the cheerleading squad, homecoming when we had been king and queen, and our time spent in the country club. As much as I cherished what we had, I knew I had been in a relationship that felt more like a friendship, cocooned by the familiarity of it.

As quickly as his expression showed his unsureness of addressing my revelation, it disappeared, replaced by his usual tactful and conciliatory demeanor. “That’s okay. We can figure it out together.” His words may have sounded assured, but his actions betrayed his true feelings as he ran a hand through his golden hair.

Jake embodied my father's vision of what was ideal for a Winslow lady: destined for greatness in law, intelligent, loyal, and from a high-status family. However, our relationship lacked the passion and heat that I often encountered in books and movies.

I nodded and looked away, smoothing my dress, reminded of how he treated me well and knew I could not hurt him.

He leaned in for a kiss, and as our lips met, there was tenderness, but it lacked any intensity. It was routine. I pulled away, and conflicting emotions knotted in my heart. I wondered if there was someone out there who could touch every aspect of my soul.

He took a few steps back and looked at me, puzzled. Time seemed to crawl as he summoned another smile, this one just as forced as the last. “Well, my class starts soon. I’ll text you.” I nodded, and he kissed my cheek before walking away.

The second-guessing settled in once I was alone with my thoughts. It was as if I had stepped into a surreal world, surrounded by an impenetrable fog. I questioned whether this train of thought was leading me astray or towards the path that was meant for me. I felt the need to end things with him, but I feared making too many changes at once.

I drug myself to class. My last business course was in a large lecture hall with rows of seats descending downstairs, facing a screen. As I passed through the door, a tall, imposing, bald man with a goatee greeted me. He introduced himself as Professor Coleman with an awkward handshake. I sat in the front row, crossing my legs.

After a few minutes, Coleman stood before us, more at ease. "As you know, every senior, no matter their major, is required to submit a capstone project. This class is where you will bring it to life. I’ll supervise and act as a mentor for those who ask. In February, you will present your project at a symposium. It’s called Exploring the Intersection of Education, Art, Science, and Technology. Or EI-EAST for short. This is not only an exhibition but a competition. A panel of judges, experts in their fields, will evaluate your ideas. The winner will secure funding to turn their vision into concrete, market-ready products."

He distributed packets containing the rules and rubric around the room. Once I read through mine, I immediately began brainstorming, becoming so engrossed in thought that I did not notice when the class ended. I hurried back to my dorm and started drawing out a blueprint. Winning this was the perfect way to show my father he was wrong. Staying up late, I spent hours researching, taking notes, and typing out ideas. After a while, I looked up from work and noticed it was past midnight. Emily was sound asleep in her bed, snoring. I paused, contemplating if I should continue or finish for the night, before deciding to close my laptop.

I got ready for bed, uncommitted to a focus. Every idea I came up with did not feel good enough. My mind was like a puzzle, missing pieces. My project pieces could not seem to fit together, and I eventually drifted off to sleep with no progress.

I woke up feeling unrested, and my computer screen taunted me when I sat at my desk. I needed something that stood out, but my perfectionism made me doubt every idea, leaving me on the verge of giving up. The more frustrated I became, the more I backspaced instead of typing.

I shut my laptop, hastily pushed myself away from it, and concluded that I needed a break. Somehow, I ended up walking into one of the campus gardens. Vibrant poesies and rose bushes surrounded me, and a fountain cascaded in the distance. My mind wandered with comparisons of my project to cultivating a garden. Somewhere in my notes was an idea that needed to be nurtured so something could bloom. Like how flowers grow slowly, my project also required persistence and time–this realization made me less defeated.