Writing Challenge - Day 6

Chapter 2 - Inside the Maze

Her shoes squeaked against the tile as she stepped inside. The cool air washing over her, a quiet relief. For a moment, it felt like she could breathe again.

The relief was short-lived. The building felt endless, a maze of walls with movies posters, fluorescet lights buzzing overhead. Hallways stretched before her, the hum of voices made her heart beat faster. It smelled like like cleaning supplies and Florida air—sterile, sharp, with a lingering humidity.

Another deep breath.

She could figure this out.

Her eyes flicked to her phone, then up at the ceiling, where metal signs marked room numbers.

Follow the signs.

She moved quickly, trying to appear confident, like she knew where she was going. But after two wrong turns, a dead end, and a full circle, the nervous sweat returned.

The clock taunted her.

Three minutes.

Then, like a miracle, she spotted it.

Room 111B.

The classroom door stood before her. The knot in her stomach tightened, nervousness flooding back. She took another deep breath, eyes flickering around—looking for someone, anyone, to reassure her. Anything to make this less intimidating.

She hesitated, fingers trembling on the door handle, before finally pushing it open.

The instant she entered, every head turned.

Her stomach dropped.

She froze in place, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.

It felt like a nightmare—showing up late, everyone staring as if she didn't belong.

Please don't let me be the only one late.

Her throat went dry as she tried to swallow the nervousness.

The professor—an older man with graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses—offered a small nod. "Welcome. Come in, take a seat."

Her feet obeyed, carrying her toward an empty chair. She sets her things down next to a young man with black hair and glasses. He glanced at her as she settled into her seat.

She checked her phone again.

One minute to spare. Great. Barely made it.

The professor did a quick headcount, muttering numbers under his breath. Apparently, she wasn’t the only latecomer—someone else hadn’t shown up either, but he didn’t seem fazed.

The tension in her chest eased slightly, but when she looked around, she saw her classmates already set up—laptops open, notebooks out, ready to go.

She scrambled to pull her own laptop from her bag, fumbling slightly as she rushed to catch up. She felt exposed, like everyone could tell she wasn't supposed to be there. The beat of her heart was almost deafening. The fear of saying the wrong thing. Of being laughed at or made to feel like she doesn't belong.

Her hands trembled just a little. First-day jitters. That’s all.

But as the professor began speaking, her shoulders relaxed just the tiniest bit.

She had made it to class.

And for now, that was enough.

xoxo, @auroxisia_

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