I had studied hard all year. The journey had been difficult—draining at times—but when I finally passed my final exams a week ago, that day felt like the brightest moment of my life.
Yet even this success, sweet as it was, carried a subtle bitterness—like dark chocolate. Delicious, but never without its edge.
The moment I received my scholarship acceptance into the University of Biology and Anatomy in Massachusetts, reality struck hard. It meant leaving my city, my family, and the life I'd always known… all for a dream. Between Texas and Massachusetts stretched over 3,000 kilometers of separation. I'd have to live in the university dorms for the entire year, only returning home on rare summer days.
Before facing that new life, I decided to return to a place that had shaped me—a quiet little farm owned by distant relatives. It felt like the perfect place to close a chapter. I wanted to say goodbye to my first friend. To childhood crushes. Or maybe I just needed a moment of stillness after all that pressure.
My family didn't own a car—we couldn't afford one—so that morning, after a heartfelt farewell, I made my way to the train station.
I spent what felt like hours choosing what to wear. I tried on half my wardrobe before finally settling on a wide-sleeved green blouse, a long black skirt, and a pair of black low-heeled shoes. I tied my light brown hair into a loose ponytail, which always made me feel neat and calm.
Mom always told me I was lucky to have pistachio-green eyes, pale skin, and light hair. I never gave it much thought, but on that train, I did feel pretty. I watched the cornfields roll by—lush and golden in their ripeness. The ride was peaceful, quiet. Just what I needed.
As the train neared the station, my heartbeat quickened. A few drops of sweat formed on my forehead—I wiped them away with a handmade white handkerchief.
When the train stopped, I stepped off and spotted the Thomsons waiting for me. My best friend Eilan ran toward me and wrapped her arms around me.
"I missed you so much! You didn't visit even once in the past three years—and your letters were barely a few lines!"
I hugged her tightly, smiling. But deep down, I was shocked. She wasn't the same mud-streaked girl I used to know. She had grown up. She was sixteen now. Of course she had changed.
We used to chase chickens together, fall in the mud, and laugh for hours. Back then, I was fourteen and she was just a year younger. Those were beautiful days.
Now, she stood taller, her long brown hair flowing down her back. Her eyes matched, deep and warm. I loved her outfit—a long brown tunic paired with loose white trousers. She'd lost weight too and turned into a truly stunning girl.
Maybe I should marry her off to my brother, just so we could all play in the mud again.
Our hug was cut short when Aunt Amanda pinched my cheek and exclaimed how beautiful I'd become, praising my outfit and eyes—calling them "sweet pistachios."
Uncle Kyle, ever the jokester, added: "Guess you're too grown-up now to shovel cow dung with me, huh?"
I laughed politely. Life had changed, but Uncle Michael's odd humor hadn't.
And then there was George, Amanda's older son, my first childhood crush. He was eighteen now—just a year older than me—but looked far more mature. Muscles well defined beneath his striped brown-and-white shirt, paired with beige trousers and white shoes. His tan skin and dark brown eyes stood out under the warm light. His hair was just long enough to slick back, giving him a quiet confidence.
He looked at me, almost shyly.
A memory suddenly struck me—one of our old games. We were playing with sticks, pretending they were swords. I knocked his out of his hands and nearly won, but he panicked and ran… right into a pile of manure. That face! I could never forget it. I laughed, right then and there, unable to help myself.
He grew awkward, clearly flustered. I was embarrassed too.
He stepped toward me, reaching for my bag.
"This must be heavy for you," he said gently.
I hesitated for a moment, flustered by how natural and sweet it felt. Eilan nudged me with her elbow and whispered:
"So… when's the wedding?"
I turned away, red-faced and speechless. Thankfully, Aunt Amanda called out loudly:
"Let's get moving, people!"
That's what I loved about Aunt Amanda. She treated me like one of her own. She could yell like a thunderstorm, but she cared like sunshine.
We walked toward the house. It wasn't far, but my steps were light, almost giddy. I knew I'd gain weight during this visit—probably end up the heaviest girl on campus.
And sure enough, the feast began. Jams, cheeses, eggs, milk… as if she was feeding an army.
Aunt Amanda was determined to fatten me up, and Uncle Kyle backed her up with comments like:
"Eat more, dear! You're still growing!"
Eilan whispered sarcastically:
"You know… George isn't really into chubby girls."
I tried not to mind. George, for his part, ate quietly, just like before.
Everything felt the same—just a little calmer, a little more grown-up. But George was different. He seemed deeper, more thoughtful. I found myself watching him more than I wanted to admit.
Despite never attending traditional school, both George and Eilan had received exceptional homeschooling. They had a massive family library, though no one used it much back in the day—except Uncle Kyle.
But now, after lunch, George walked straight to it with a quiet urgency.
Later that afternoon, Uncle Kyle stepped outside for his usual post-meal cigar. The house, while partly secluded, was part of a small rural village—maybe a hundred people total, across no more than twenty families. Every Friday, George and his father traveled to town for the weekly market. Traders came with newspapers, cigarettes, and other small goods, while local families exchanged homegrown produce or handmade items. Prices were symbolic—sometimes things were simply given freely, with love and trust.
Aunt Amanda and Eilan cleaned up the dishes. I offered to help, but Aunt Amanda insisted:
"Not on your first day, young lady!"
I whispered to Eilan:
"How about we bring George some tea in the library?"
She nodded, grinning. I smiled too—I loved reading.
I prepared the tea and biscuits carefully, carrying them to the library. I knocked.
"Come in," George called softly.
I entered and found him absorbed in a book, lit by a soft oil lamp. He looked up, slightly surprised.
I sat on a chair beside him and handed him a cup.
"What are you reading?" I asked.
"The Summer Book," he replied.
"By Tove Jansson."
My eyes lit up.
"I've read it! I loved the bond between the grandmother and the little girl. The whole atmosphere was so... still and perfect."
He seemed genuinely surprised.
"The girl I remember from before was more mud than brain," he teased.
"And the boy I remember smelled like manure," I shot back with a smile.
He chuckled. We started talking about books, characters, quotes. I asked him about his favorite line.
He replied:
"A person can find many things in a day…"
I interrupted him, excited:
"…if they just look for them!"
We both laughed. That was my favorite line too.
We spent hours discussing stories. Sometimes we agreed, sometimes we didn't—but the joy was real. I didn't even realize how late it had gotten. By midnight, I said goodnight. He did too.
I tiptoed to the kitchen to wash the cups and tray. As I stood there, rinsing the last glass, I noticed something outside the window—a shadow in the distance.
It was hard to see. I felt a flicker of fear, but then shook it off.
Just my mind playing tricks. Maybe George couldn't sleep and went out. Or Uncle Kyle hadn't come back yet.
Still, the figure moved slowly between the cornfields and animal sheds.
I stayed in the kitchen a while longer, trying to convince myself it was nothing.
Eventually, I gave in to sleepiness and went to bed… but I couldn't sleep.
From my window, I could still see that shadow. No face. No shape. Just movement—barely visible in the moonlight and the weak porch lamp.
The figure lingered until dawn.
When sunlight began to break, I felt relief.
Now I'd finally see what it was.
But instead, it turned and walked slowly into the fields… and vanished.
And so did my strength. I finally drifted off to sleep.
I had no idea that wouldn't be the last time I saw my gentle visitor.