Trust me Not | 18+ ✎

06 • morose

c h a p t e r

06

morose

♔

m y r a

MIRA WASN'T TALKING TO ME.

She didn't return to the dorm that night and hadn't picked up any of my calls. Instead, she walked in the next morning with bloodshot eyes, messed up hair and smelling like death.

I had tried talking to her, but she had simply changed out of her clothes and covered herself in a blanket, completely cutting me off.

Monday rolled in, indicating the start of a fresh week, but I just couldn't get up from my bed. Today, I had another Literature class requiring me to turn in my essay, but I didn't want to get up.

Mira had already left, probably getting up earlier to avoid me. The bleak walls felt like they were closing in on me as I stared more at them, the colours washing away and being replaced with gloom.

I rolled over in my bed as the clock ticked away seconds, minutes and a whole hour.

I had ended up missing my first class.

The realisation of the situation forced me to take a step away from my bed as I headed towards the bathroom to freshen up. Afterwards, I glanced at the clock and realised I had time before lunch to go and submit my assignment to Professor James.

The hallway buzzed with students as they shuffled between classes, everyone chattering about their weekend filled with glory and gossip. I kept my head down as I made a beeline for Professor James' cabin until I found myself stepping through the familiar mahogany doors.

His chamber was neat and cold, with lines of books filling out his shelves and a portrait of abstract art hanging from one of the walls that didn't have a window. His cashemere coat was dangling on the coat rack, along with his gloves and a scarf. It smelled strongly of wood and cologne, something very unique to Professor James. He had been famous amongst the students and professors alike.

Professor James was a man in his mid-thirties who had a knack for wearing monochromatic tones of blue, black, and grey. I had never seen him with a tinge of any other shade.

He looked up from his table and smiled at me, "Miss Chaudhary, good morning."

I smiled back at him, "Good morning, Professor James."

I set my bag down in front of him before pulling out my essay and handing it to him, "I came to give you this. I'm sorry I wasn't feeling well this morning."

He took the bunch of papers from me to check its contents, "Are you fine now?" He asked while he put on his glasses. The lack of coat made the muscles on his forearm flex as he turned a page in my document, his eyes profoundly assessing mywork.

I nodded, "Yes, Professor."

He closed the bundle and looked back up at me with a dismissive smile, "Alright then."

I only smiled in return before heading out of the chamber.

I was by the bleachers as a number of girls practised on the track. It was too early for the soccer team to show, and the sun felt nice on my freezing hands. I watched the girls run, their chests heaving with long breaths as they tried to set times higher than each other.