Falling in the Dark | ✓

31 | Stop

I give a cursory glance at my old brown wristwatch, my eyes skimming over the needles inside the round dial to ensure that I have enough time to pay the library statue a visit before the final begins. Thick gray clouds are gathering in the sky, the same dreary hue coating the bare trees and sidewalk stones.

As soon as the library building appears in my view, I notice the crowd milling around the old statue, counting at least a dozen heads. The scientist's figurine looms in all its somber silver glory in front of the metal-and-glass library.

I can't imagine how a deceased research scientist can help business majors, literature majors, history majors and programming majors ace their exams. But just like every other Ivy University student, I'm compelled to carry the tradition forward.

"Excuse me, coming through," I say hastily as I slip through the small crowd to get to the statue's feet.

I finally reach the base of the statue, but I'm distracted when I raise my eyes to scan the faces standing closest to me. Liam is standing to my right, his hand extended to the statue's foot. He looks up absently, his eyebrows shooting up at the sight of me.

Liam smiles in greeting, his honey eyes standing out like an unflinching explosion of color against the grayness of everything else.

I smile back, my hand immediately and instinctively reaching over to his. I lay my fingers over his - the swarm of oblivious strangers bustling around us blurring to the background for a few blissful seconds - and he turns his palm, squeezing my fingers warmly before letting go.

"Good luck," Liam says in my ear as he passes by, his tone conspiratorial and light.

"You too," I whisper in return, watching the crowd part around him until he disappears.

Heat creeps into my cheeks as I plunge my left hand into my coat pocket, my right hand still resting against the sculpture's foot. I raise my eyes to the silver face, the thick crop of curls, the wise eyes, the round-rimmed glasses resting on a slightly crooked nose.

And suddenly, I find myself believing in the myth of Ivy University's lucky statue.

❅

I'm propelled out of the exam room by the force of the crowd around me. The halls are filled with students, bustling around, exchanging greetings and asking each other how their exam went. I stop paying attention, and the voices merge into one loud, unintelligible chorus.

I stop a few feet away from the classroom to root around the depths of my heavy backpack for my economics notes. Leaning against the adjacent wall, I hurriedly flip the pages to check if I'd drawn the right graphs.

I sigh with relief when I find the page - every inch of it cramped with words and roughly drawn diagrams - and find that I haven't made the mistake I feared. I shoulder my backpack, exhaling deeply again before walking out of the building.

Glancing down at my watch, I mentally count the hours I have left to study for the marketing exam tomorrow. Pushing through the double doors of the building, I take a left towards The Blacktop, my stomach rumbling at the thought of a grilled cheese sandwich.

The grayness from the morning still clings to everything, coiling around the trees like a vine. Shuddering against the cold, I pull the rolled-up sleeves of my cardigan over my wrists.

Soon, the Blacktop's familiar one-storied structure appears in my view a few blocks away, the diner practically radiating smells of coffee and syrup. I quicken my pace, and when I enter, the air inside is deliciously warm, the aroma a dozen times stronger here. But for once, the diner is almost empty.