Chapter 2 - Part 2

  After leaving the meeting, I was thinking of staying to talk with my teammates, or at least with Donal. But, of course, he quickly made sure that didn’t happen. So I decided to walk through the hallways of the institution, which, to be honest, always felt like something out of a movie. I can’t explain it, but I loved it.

  The wooden floor creaked with every step, and the large windows let the sunlight in without asking for permission, giving the place a special warmth. The walls, white and covered halfway with dark wood panels, gave a sense of order and tradition. Each hallway had two chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, making it look imposing and fantastic at the same time. The tall, solid wood doors were half-closed, and as I passed by, it wasn’t difficult to hear what was going on inside the classrooms.

  After walking a few steps, I stopped when I heard a class. It was one of the first or second-year groups, and they were talking about what we call “The Beginning of Everything”: the start of the Great War. I stood outside the classroom, paying attention to the teacher’s voice, knowing that it would inevitably bring up memories.

  “How did we end up here? How did it all begin?” she asked in a soft but firm voice.

  “If we had to summarize briefly, we’d say it all started with the wars in the Middle East,” she continued, pointing to a map with a pointer.

  “The groups pursuing opposing religions had formed factions across all continents,” she paused briefly before continuing. “There was nowhere they weren’t. With the figure of the Pope fading, even more so after the previous one’s death, those responding to the papacy had begun to decline years ago.”

  “The Jews tried their best to minimize casualties and seek peace agreements, while Christianity and Catholicism seemed lost, both from the outside and within. Each of them was losing the battle of values and principles that had taken centuries to build.”

  “It was only a matter of time before terrorist attacks intensified, and the victims were forced to unite, even at the cost of momentarily losing their sovereignties.”

  “The language chosen for communication was English. Everyone kept their native language, but understanding each other among all was —and still is— essential.”

  At that point, I stopped listening. Not because it wasn’t true, but because I knew there were parts being omitted.

  I got up from the wooden bench next to the classroom, and that’s when I noticed I wasn’t alone. Azrak and Owen were also there. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one fascinated by the history class.

  As expected, my cheeks turned red. My crush on Azrak was no secret, though I never received even the slightest sign of interest from him. So, over time, I had chosen to move on and focus on my responsibilities, trying to make sure that attraction wasn’t obvious.

  It’s not that no one had asked me out, or that I hadn’t tried. But nothing had gone beyond a coffee and a pleasant chat. And I couldn’t keep giving someone false hope if they didn’t feel the same. Maybe this year, I’d finally forget Azrak and move on with my life. For now, I was on the right track.

  I decided to greet them. I hadn’t had the chance earlier.

  “Good morning… have you guys eaten yet?” I asked, cursing myself for how awkward my voice sounded.

  “Good morning, Franca. Not yet,” Owen replied.

  Owen was of medium-high stature, with dark skin and short hair — more due to regulations than preference. His eyes were just right, neither too big nor small, and his smile was contagious, the kind that made you smile without realizing it. He had a good physique, like all of us, a result of constant training, but what stood out most about him was his character: he was undoubtedly one of the sweetest and most pleasant people you could meet, alongside some of the girls in the group. He had that quality that made you feel comfortable even on the hardest days.

  Azrak, on the other hand, greeted with a slight nod of his head.

  “Good morning,” he said in a deep voice, not raising his tone much.

  That was him. Imposing, always firm, as if his mere presence was enough to order the environment. But he wasn’t one of those types who made you feel awkward with their excessive seriousness or who thought of themselves as living statues. No, Azrak had something more authentic. Serious, yes. Contained, also. But far from being cold or unreachable. He had a direct way of speaking, without unnecessary embellishments, but with a confidence that made you want to listen. His silence wasn’t disinterest: it was precision.

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  “You were listening to the history class, right?” Owen asked, half-amused, crossing his arms. “I knew it wasn’t a coincidence to see you right there.”

  I shrugged, not denying anything.

  “It was a good class,” I simply said.

  And it was. History, the theory behind the war, the structure of the conflict… all of that truly interested me. Not just because it was part of our daily lives, but because understanding it helped me navigate this world better. It wasn’t something I studied out of obligation; I genuinely wanted to pay attention.

  “You’d be able to make a tactical map even in your sleep,” Owen said, laughing.

  “Yeah,” Azrak added, with that usual serious tone, though there was a subtle note of recognition in his voice. “And you’d do it well.”

  Comments like that, coming from him, were like medals. He didn’t need to exaggerate anything for his words to carry weight. I looked at him for a moment longer than necessary and forced myself to look away.

  I couldn’t help but smile, though I quickly hid it. Not because I didn’t like the recognition, but because he said it with such naturalness that it seemed like he didn’t know the effect his words had. Owen raised his eyebrows, amused.

  “Well, well, that’s quite a compliment. If it comes from Azrak, you’d better cherish it,” he joked, nudging me gently with his shoulder.

  “I’m already framing it mentally,” I replied, this time smiling.

  At that moment, we heard the characteristic sound of marked, steady steps. Claire appeared from the end of the hallway, with her upright, elegant gait. Her hair was neatly tied in a braid that fell down her back, and in her left hand, she held a closed folder.

  “Ah, the early birds are all here,” she commented with a teasing tone, raising an eyebrow slightly. “The responsible club couldn’t be missing.”

  “You’re just missing, Claire, and we’ll be complete,” Owen said, laughing.

  “Don’t compare me, please. I arrive early out of obligation, not for pleasure,” she responded, joining the small group.

  Claire had a more sarcastic style, but it was clear she appreciated us. She had a sharp intelligence, always ready to cut through with a well-aimed comment, though never cruel. She was definitely the soul of the group.

  “We were talking about the history class,” I mentioned, in case she joined in on the topic.

  “Again? You’re obsessed, Franca. I’ll bring you a bedtime book, in case you can’t sleep,” she joked, though without malice.

  “I’m just interested, that’s all,” I shrugged.

  “Good thing you’re interested. You know I don’t make it past the third line without getting distracted,” Owen confessed.

  “They give you the field manual and you find ways to turn it into a poem,” I added, laughing.

  “Don’t rule it out, it could be my next project,” he said, dramatically, making a broad gesture with his hands as if reciting something profound.

  We all laughed.

  The atmosphere between us, at that moment, was light, sincere. A small bubble in the chaos that represented our usual routine. There was our balance. Each with their own way of being, each fulfilling their role. And though we knew that at any moment orders would sound or the mood would shift, that morning everything seemed to be exactly in its place.

  Owen was the first to say it, just when the conversation started to unravel in laughter.

  “Shall we go to the dining hall? I’d rather face the park with some food in my stomach. At least then the falls will make sense,” he commented, and Claire let out a brief laugh.

  We set off. The sun was already bathing the hallways with a warmth that contrasted with the martial rhythm of our routine. We walked together, not talking much, as if we were all saving energy for the day. The dining hall was half-full, with that constant murmur of overlapping conversations, clattering cutlery, and cups. The air smelled of strong coffee, cooked meat, and mild spices. There were eggs, milk, grilled vegetables, some fish. Everything needed to keep us from fainting before noon.

  We sat near a window. Owen chose my right; Claire sat across from him. And Azrak, without saying anything, sat right across from me. Our gazes met briefly, without a smile or a greeting. Just that suspended moment where two people recognize each other without words.

  “Did you sleep at all, Azrak?” Owen asked while serving himself eagerly.

  “Just enough,” he replied, serving with precision. His plate seemed meticulously balanced: a portion of meat, two eggs, vegetables. Nothing out of place.

  “And you, Franca?” Claire intervened, smiling from behind her cup. “What class do you have today?”

  “Just one this afternoon. Third year, strategy, and field reading.”

  “What a horror,” Owen joked. “I hope you’re not one of those who give surprise tests.”

  “It depends,” I replied, taking a bite. “If they’re too scattered, yes. But most are good.”

  Azrak spoke without lifting his gaze.

  “Your students respect you. I noticed yesterday.”

  “It’s mutual,” I said, not thinking too much. Then I looked down.

  For a moment, there was no sound except the clinking of cutlery.

  “You’ve always liked the theoretical part more than the physical training,” he said, as if we were picking up an old conversation.

  I lifted my eyes and looked directly at him.

  “I like both. It’s just that theory doesn’t hurt the body afterward.”

  Claire laughed very softly. Owen stifled a chuckle behind his cup.

  “Doesn’t seem like it hurts much when you make us fly through the air,” he said theatrically. “Sometimes I think you enjoy it too much.”

  I shrugged with a smile.

  “Maybe. Just a little.”

  Azrak held it. The smile. It was barely a second, but it showed faintly at the corner of his mouth, as if it had slipped out.

  “And you, Claire?” I asked, shifting the focus. “Are you training today?”

  “Only after noon. This morning, I’m analyzing patterns. Very exciting.”

  “You lie badly,” Owen commented, and we all laughed.

  The rest of breakfast passed with light conversations. No dramatics, no unnecessary words. But every now and then, I’d look up, and there he was. Azrak. Watching me. As if he understood things that I still hadn’t fully grasped. As if he knew that sometimes, silence says a lot more than a calculated phrase.

  And I wasn’t going to say anything. But I wasn’t going to pretend I didn’t notice either.