Unforgettable

Part 5

Natalie

"So, once again, classic literature can be used to teach us so much more than just olden style language and phrasing, but it can also dictate how we live our lives today. You see, if it weren't for the like of Shakespeare, Dickens, and..."

I'm completely zoned out by the end of today's literature lecture. Seriously, whoever thought 2 hour lectures were a good idea needs to be shot, execution style preferably. My professor bores on, although my brain is fried, my ears turned off to all external noise. I'm drawing small flowers in the corner of my notebook with blue pen, and let me just say, thank goodness I'm not an art major. I don't notice when the professors stopped talking, it's only when a bag is smashed into my legs and people are trying to push past me that I realize it's over. I apologize to the people who probably need to attend anger management classes trying to push past me, and reach for the small pencil case located in the bottom of my bag. I open the zipper, throwing my pen inside before shoving it back into my bag. I grab my notebook, and toss it inside my bag without a further thought. Lastly, I grab a mint from somewhere in the bottom of my bag, popping it into my mouth as I stand. 

The lecture hall is pretty quiet and empty now, there's only a few stragglers left now, including myself. I walk down the stairs slowly, as I'm in no real rush to get home. It's my last class of the day, thankfully, and my only real plans for tonight are working on my book. I've hit a bit of a mind-field these past few weeks, and settling into college life hasn't left me much time to work on it. I'm writing about, you guessed it, a romance. I'm not too sure how it'll end yet, although I have worked out the main idea. 

'Boring, touch-deprived college kid with no idea what to do with their life runs into their first love from years before, and they instantly fall in love again. The world is perfect, nothing can break their bond, and they lived happily, ever, after.'

Sounds familiar?

Okay, so, so what if I write stories about my own pathetic lack of a love-life? One of the things I love about writing is the ability to put whatever you want into it, no matter how depressing, or exciting, or cheesy it may be. There's a reader out there for every book.

I'm still thinking over the details of my book as I leave the lecture hall. I wave goodbye to my professor, yelling a promising 'I'll see you tomorrow' over my shoulder, before walking through one of the halls large wooden doors. I round the corner into the corridor as I fiddle with something in my bag, not noticing who or what I could be running into. 

"Oomph." A straggled cry erupts from my mouth as something tall and heavy collides with my body. My arms fly out to steady myself, but it's too late. I feel my body falling, and I prepare myself for an inevitable crash landing. Except, my body's not... falling anymore? A strong arms is wrapped around my waist, with another one holding my upper-back, steadying me. A pair of converse cover the feet of my rescuer, with mismatched socks covering his ankles. My eyes travel up his body, a pair of grey sweatpants covering his legs. My eyes move further, seeing a blue hoodie covered by a black flannel covering his torso. A silver necklace hangs over his hoodie, leading my eyes to his face. His... familiar face. Light brown hair sits atop of his head, it's natural wave looking messy and interrupted. A smirk is placed on his face, eyes wide. Freckles lightly dot his cheeks, a slight pink to them. The freckles. They take me back, all the way to that summer all those years ago. 

It's him.

Casey

My alarm beeps an earth-shattering beep into the side of my ear, and I groan trying to reach for the snooze button. My finger finally finds it, slamming it down so hard my nightstand rocks from side to side. I reach my arms up, and my whole body groans from the stretch. There's not time to sleep though, and my body knows it. I have to leave for hockey training in 15 minutes, and after that I have classes all day. I groan once more into my pillow, before awkwardly crawling out of bed. I shuffle into my mini kitchen, turning on my coffee machine and grabbing a mug out of an overhead cupboard. The coffee spits out into my mug quickly, and I walk over to sit on one of the stools at my kitchen island. I sit, sipping my coffee in silence, waiting for the day to begin.