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Two years later…

First day at the university. First day being independent. First day of the new beginning of my life.

I inhaled that sweet scent of unrestrained freedom I’ll be drowned in for 4 years (or more) of my university life. All while trying to get through the swarm of students flooding the hallways of the dorm, and dragging a very large trolley containing most of my stuff behind me, wheels squeaking on the tiled floor.

I took a gap year after graduating from high school; it was advised by my psychiatrist after that incident at the lake. We did everything we could for me to recover physically, mentally, and emotionally.

All the therapy, traveling, and prescribed medication did most of the trick, but there was this old wound inside that just wouldn’t heal no matter what I do. Along with anxiety and wisps of dreams that vanishes as soon as I wake up.

My family and new friends helped a lot. Joy and I remained very good friends but we have not yet tried to go further than that. It just wasn’t the same after the incident. But maybe given enough time?

Finally, after roughly fifteen minutes of navigating a twenty-meter hall, I arrived at my designated room. I double-checked the number on my key because I don’t want to accidentally enter the wrong room on my very first day.

That would be an epic fail – even by my standards.

I tried the doorknob, and to my surprise, it was unlocked.

Maybe my roommate wa