Before a thread begins to glow, it must first bleed or heal.
Before it whispers, it must scream - whether in pain or in joy.
I had always dreamed of going to college, and somehow that dream was finally stepping into reality. Days turned into weeks, then months, and before I knew it, I had been away from my parents' house long enough to start feeling the shape of independence.
Staying with my aunt was unexpectedly comforting. She was loud in the right ways, soft in the right moments, and supportive exactly where I didn't know I needed support. It was because of her that my dream was unfolding - slowly, quietly, beautifully.
And then… I felt a thread.
Not mine reaching out foolishly, not the empty pull of bonds that were never meant for me.
No.
His thread came toward me.
It was the first time I had ever felt a thread move in my direction - steady, deliberate, almost determined. It carried a passion I didn't understand and a will that unsettled me more than I cared to admit. It was like something had recognised me long before I recognised it.
Days passed, and soon it was time to leave for my first day at college.
I saw him again.
I told myself it would be the last time.
I lied to myself without even knowing it.
My aunt dropped me off at the hostel after the registration process. The building smelled of dust, detergent, old paint and new beginnings. When I walked into my room, excitement rushed through me in one bright wave. I was alone for a while, unpacking and wiping down surfaces, until the door opened and two girls stepped inside.
Elizabeth and Maryanne - my roommates.
They were warm, friendly, and eager to help. We finished the cleaning together, laughing over the ridiculous amount of dust the previous occupants left behind. Soon enough, we fell into a rhythm - unpacking our lives into the small space we had to share.
The hostel was full of different people, different levels, different energies. Some students had resumed late, others had used influence to get into the school - politics I had no intention of entertaining.
But due to some favourable circumstances I and my roommates had the best room in the whole school even separate from where our other mates where. We stayed where our seniors were, being entitled to the good things of the hostel.
My roommates and I grew closer. We cooked together, explored the campus together, and slowly built a tiny community around ourselves. Two more girls joined the circle: Timaya, who was loud enough for all of us, and Diana, who had a softness giving the caring older sister, also really loud and annoying.
We were becoming a group.
A strange, mismatched, comfortable group.
But even in the middle of all of it, the memory of that blue thread lingered, humming at the back of my mind - waiting.
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