The Morning It Began

Eyes glued on a glass pane overlooking a jungle of concrete, where in its darkest nights still bear sounds and sights so loud it kept you awake, there I was, lying on my back. I had my phone tucked in my pocket while I lay on the edge of a window, looking down on the vast night landscape. This was the metropolis of Ophrus, the busy capital of the nation where I'd lived 18 years. My name was Ped, and I was a college student in the district's best school, and while I wasn't the brightest of the bunch, I at least considered myself to be one of the cool ones on campus.

All these people, I'd think, lead such different lives with different families they'd go home to, a personal daily routine that I'd never understand, and they'd look up into the sky with a different sort of glisten in their eyes. It was something I could never fathom.

Crossing the streets, honking in cars, I almost felt like we were just living on a giant ant farm. These "ants" were working collaboratively, with each having such a specific and unique contribution to the farm. It was something I'd also think about every time I lie by that window. Every "ant" had a destination in mind, all unbeknownst to the rest, and with every step they strode towards a place that would lead them to new people and new scenarios. Such a complex community, a network of minds, that existed so dearly and fragile in this city, was I even part of it at all?

I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

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The crisp morning air filled my lungs as I stood on the station platform. The looming, cloudy sky washed everyone a shade of grey, as folk from all sorts of their own stories came together this morning and joined our stories as one, all awaiting the next train to arrive. I looked around, and saw a shadow in the distant rails, growing in size as it came closer to the station. "The train is now approaching," a monotone voice boomed over the speakers. "please step away from the edge of the platform." With carefree steps, I entered the train and sat on an empty seat, between two men who smelt of cheap drugstore cologne.

In the gentle cradle-like movements of the train, I took my book I didn't bother reading the night before out and started to flip the pages, garnering the attention of a nearby man. As I looked up to meet his eyes, I found that he was, too, holding the same book in his hands. Walt Whitman. Nice taste, I said to myself, before burying myself deep into the book's pages. From time to time I'd sneak a peek to examine the man. He looked like a mix between Chinese and Latino, having fine brown complexion. He also had short black hair and a cute stubble surrounding his strong jawline. A smart-looking white shirt covered his toned body, while his biceps were barely contained by the short sleeves. You could tell he went to the gym regularly, and he definitely did not miss arm day. At all. I couldn't help stealing glances at that handsome statue of a man. Though his appearance was buff and ripped, seeing him read Walt Whitman made him look profoundly intellectual and almost even hotter than he already was. As I sensed his eyes move, I naturally lead mine back into the fine print on my book. The train then went from station to station, district to district, and soon stopped at the heart of the city. Had he not stood up, I wouldn't have noticed that the train had arrived my destination.

I soon found out he was also walking towards the same school I was heading for, much to my surprise. Was he a new teacher, or was he a student, though he looked awfully old to be a student, I thought as I pinned him down with my stare while he was walking in front of me in the day-lit street.

He seemed to have noticed my stare, and spared no time in turning around the next time I shot him a glance.

"Hey," he spoke with an accent.

I jumped back in shock at his casual greeting.

"I reckon you're a college student here, right? We seem to be walking in the same direction."

"Yes, I am. And you…?" I raised my eyebrow and waited for his reply.

He chuckled. "I know I might look a bit young, and that's because I am. I'm a new English professor here. You can call me Mr. Brad Mateo. What's your name, buddy?"

"Oh I'm Ped!"

With a cheery smile, he reached his hand out for a handshake.