Marisa sat on the couch, a stranger’s bag on her lap, feeling like her whole day was just piling up on her shoulders.

She started digging through the stuff inside, trying not to mess anything up.

Her fingers brushed over random objects: a small silver yo-yo, scratched but still working; a crumpled notebook filled with uneven musical notes—maybe they were in band or just really into music; an empty plastic bottle; a set of keys with a soccer-ball keychain; and a handful of coins scattered at the bottom.

But then her eyes froze on a pink envelope.

"What is that doing in a boy’s bag?" she thought in surprise.

 It looked… different. Special. That pink paper just looked so out of place next to all the regular stuff.

 Marisa picked it up cautiously, hoping for a name or clue. She turned it over and over, but there was no address, no signature, not even an initial.

It wasn’t even sealed—just slightly open.

She hesitated. She knew it was wrong to read someone else’s letter. That was personal.

Placing the envelope carefully on the table, she went back to searching, hoping to find something less private—maybe a school ID or a piece of paper with a name scribbled on it.

But there was nothing. No badge, no student card, not even a notebook with a surname. Just random objects—and that pink envelope, which now seemed like a magnet pulling her gaze back, making her heart race a little.

No, Mari, that’s wrong… it’s not yours… 

But then again…What if the answer was inside? What if it was her only chance to find out whose bag this was?

Marisa went back and forth with herself, like she was fighting some internal battle. Finally, she reached out, slowly, and pulled the envelope closer. She slipped out the letter and unfolded it carefully.

On thin paper, written in neat, elegant handwriting, were just a few lines:

 "The first time I saw you, it felt like the whole world stopped.
I couldn’t move—I could only watch you laugh, watch you tuck that strand of hair behind your ear.
You shine like a sunrise after a sleepless night.
And maybe I’m a fool, because I still haven’t had the courage to tell you this face to face.
But I believe that one day, you’ll read these words and smile.

Yours — N."

Marisa swallowed the lump in her throat. Her eyes ran over the lines again and again. Her heart was pounding like crazy.

Heat rushed to her cheeks—she was blushing, though she couldn’t even tell if it was because she’d broken someone’s trust or because those words… somehow touched something deep inside her.

Carefully she folded the letter back into the envelope. She sat hugging herself tight and stayed quiet for a long time.

The name of the owner? Nowhere. Just the signature: Yours — N.

"N. Who on earth was that?"

She flipped through every guy’s name she could think of. None of them fit.

And the worst part—her stuff was gone. Her math notes were gone. Her survival plan was gone. And what if this mysterious N had seen her math test? Seventeen out of a hundred. Total disaster.

Marisa covered her face with her hands.

"What were you even thinking Mari? How exactly are you gonna move on from this?"

She sat on the couch staring at the bag in her lap. Her thoughts were everywhere - like trying to catch leaves in a hurricane. She couldn’t just leave it like that but she also had no idea where to start. She needed to do something. "Stay calm. Don’t panic." 

“Okay first things first don’t freak out,” she told herself out loud. “All I need to do is just return the bag. If I just take it back the problem disappears. But… there’s one little thing.”

She frowned setting the bag aside. How was she supposed to return it without making things even weirder? Because of the letter. That beautiful letter she had read even though she had no right to. It was so personal she couldn’t just pretend she hadn’t seen it. If it had been her letter she’d hate the idea of someone else reading it.

 “Return the bag without the letter? But what if it matters to him? I can’t just ignore that… so what do I do?”

 Marisa felt completely stuck. On one hand she could just return the bag and act like nothing ever happened. That would solve it but she’d be left with this heavy guilt of invading someone’s privacy. And deep down she knew this was her problem not his. Still her heart whispered something different—she had to return the letter too. Maybe some secrets aren't meant to stay buried.

I still had no idea who he was. What if I found him through the bag? I could look around, see who carried the same one. Maybe if I memorized every student’s face, I’d catch his name sooner or later. Yes. That’s the plan.

 She told herself not to rush. Step one: return the bag. That was the priority. But what about the letter?

 “I’ll just tell him the truth. Yeah… I’ll say I read it by accident. Like, what else was I supposed to do? Just ignore it? No way. If he wants to keep it to himself, fine, I get it. But why should I pretend I don’t know? Maybe… maybe this was his way of saying it out loud. His words. His soul.”

Taking a deep breath, she realized it wasn’t only about returning the bag — it was about showing him she respected his privacy too. All she had to do now was find him. And, most importantly, not tell anyone about the letter. This had to stay her secret.

 Marisa carefully placed everything back inside, trying to steady her thoughts. Math could wait — ugh, thank God — and even that gave her a little relief. Still, no matter how hard she tried, the memory of that awful test kept creeping back, like a shadow. But sitting here with the lamp on, she finally started to calm down a bit.

 Her eyes drifted to the old atlas lying on the desk. Her chest felt tight, but in a good way — for once she could actually forget about all the crap going on. Tomorrow was geography class, her favorite subject, and honestly the only thing that made her feel alive. Geography was her little escape.

Lowering her head, Marisa opened the atlas, and the colorful maps just made her feel... better somehow, like she could breathe again. She could just zone out and pretend tests and grades and all that bullshit weren't even real. Just space. Freedom. A chance to dream.

 “One day,” she whispered, eyes still fixed on the page. “One day I’ll go there. To all those countries. Somewhere without this fog in my head. Somewhere I’ll finally be free.”

 Sighing, she traced her finger along the blank parts of the page, sketching tiny lines, marking the journeys she would one day take — as if she could already see them alive in her own photographs. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next year, but someday she would step into those places for real.

 The thought of tomorrow’s geography class made her smile. At least tomorrow I get to talk about them. At least tomorrow I’ll be closer to the dream.

 And just like that, the world around her grew lighter. She kept drawing, her hands shaping little outlines that would never be finished — but for now, those unfinished lines on the map were the only thing that actually mattered right now.