The pages flutter as if a storm were about to burst through them, the sound of the paper echoing against the desk as though they were struggling with one another. The whispers of violent wind slip through an open window, as if something, somewhere, is about to change… or perhaps the window should simply be closed, as though scolding someone who does not care.

Inside a room wrapped in silence, gentle in its simplicity, adorned with damp flower petals that carry no scent, as if they move with the present without forgetting the past. Between pictures hung with longing, gray and colorless, upon white walls and a wooden floor decorated by a patterned rug…

There lies the soft echo of a fifteen-year-old girl’s breathing, asleep as if no sound could shake the core of her room. Unaware. Strands of her black hair scattered across her pillow, her body still like a lifeless figure, save for the gentle rise and fall of her breath. She sleeps as though nothing in the world is more important than this rest.

The clock ticks: seven thirty. Before the alarm can even vibrate, her hand stretches out in silence and turns it off. She rises abruptly from the bed. Her eyes barely open, she stands on the tips of her small toes, hardly able to bear the weight of her medium-built body. She sways and sways as she steps toward the window.

Her white shirt is untidy, her yellow-patterned pajama pants the same; one leg straight, the other rolled up to her knee. She stops in front of the window slowly, lazily, adjusting her pants with her right foot. Her body cracks softly, and she smiles as she looks outside, whispering,
“It’s morning.”

The window overlooks the street. No one is passing by. It is the beginning of the end of winter, the beginning of spring… as if a page has been turned outside. The beginning of a new day. A new chapter.

Birds sing in the morning, and the sun’s rays barely slip from beneath the crowded clouds in the sky. The days are still rainy, even though winter has ended.

The atmosphere didn’t feel heavy, despite the sky, almost ready to rain. It was as if the day was a new departure, or perhaps a fresh beginning.

At the doorstep, a soft white cat with blue eyes stumbled, just a few drops of rain falling around her, seeking shelter under the house’s door, which trembled gently as it opened from the inside. The cat meowed, as if asking to enter.

“My dear, good morning… no entry. Mom fears you might ruin the little things… it’s better if you stay here,” the girl whispered.

She bent down, ready to pet the cat, but then remembered something and stopped, saying,
“I’m too lazy to go get an umbrella.”

And with that, she stepped away, leaving the little cat behind.

Her black backpack on her shoulders, she walked gently, letting the raindrops touch her, only for them to fade as the morning sun began to shine through.

It was around half-past eight. Someone was beginning their day.

As the sunlight gently struggles to rise, the girl with sharp features walks in calm, heavy steps. It is still early to reach the school. She passes through alleys that remain wet from the harsh winter rains, her feet pressing against the damp ground, sending tiny splashes of water to the sides with every step.

Bicycles and cars create their noise along the streets and narrow ways, while students begin to gather, each coming from a different direction, yet all heading toward the same place.

“Good morning, Lina.”

A light touch lands on her shoulders from behind, and she turns her whole body to face the voice, saying, “You’re early, as always.”

Lina gently grabs her friend’s hand, who was about to lose her balance, and replies,
“Good morning, Nour. You’re full of energy, as always.”

The two girls smile, whispering and exchanging bits of conversation as they walk.

Lina has many friends. From the moment her feet step into the schoolyard, greetings follow her from every side. She is cheerful, someone who enjoys life in its brightest form.

Life at school begins the moment one steps inside its gates… and ends the moment one steps outside.
That is how friendship feels to Lina. Everyone disappears once they leave the school. She has no desire to get too close to anyone — or perhaps, she is simply afraid of getting too close.

Lina enjoys being inside the school walls. During every break, she plays two games: basketball, and another game that became exciting because of her.

The first class of the day ends. The break bell rings, and everyone rushes to have fun. A group of students gathers in one place, under the worn trunk of a tree, where a long shadow stretches, decorated by sunlight that seems shy to fully appear.

A small, cozy space forms, surrounded by students waiting for today’s match.
Whispers rise:
“Will Lina win again?” some ask.
“I think Jack will win this time,” others reply.

Everyone waits.

Lina sits in the middle, holding the cards with her slender hands, waiting for her opponent. She whispers with her friends, then glances at the clock, and finally says with a soft laugh,
“Did he run away?”

The students laugh with her. Her eyes search here and there.

Then her gaze passes toward a distant spot, near the school gate where the sun falls strongly. Beneath it, a boy sits alone, a phone in his hand, his head slightly lowered as he stares at the screen. For a brief moment, he lifts his head, and his brown eyes shine under the warm sunlight.