Between the naked trees, almost skeletical, stood proud Welton High —like an old haunted castle from fairytales.

It had always been men the ones getting taught within those rock walls —since it's fundation in 1859. However, this year the first promotion of girls was introduced to it's hallways.

The first year that women would warm the place with their golden hearts, the first year of stolen dances and shy glances.

You were one of the lucky first 20 girls to be introduced to Welton, your parents bidding you goodbye at the doors of the school's chapel after the initation ceremony. Their little girl was all grown up.

Mr Keating, the new —and quite excentric— English professor had noticed the way you and the other 6 girls in his class were the ones bringing the most emotion to his subject. Of course, it was to be expected, since boys deemed themselves far above something as sensitive as poems while you and your girlfriends thrived in the way he spoke of carpe diem and poetry —"romanticism will win any girl over", he reminded the boys in his class one day.

You and the other five girls were the ones always turning your homework —poems— in with clear entusiasm in receiving them graded later.

It always was sweet what was written in all of your poems. Perfect calygraphy and clear feelings portrayed in the ink.

However, he started to notice how your poems —as beautifil and sweet as ever— started to take on a much more.. nostalgic turn. You spoke of life beautifully yet as if It had already ended from you.

After another one of his Literature classes, and after having read yet another one of such saddeningly beautiful poems, he sighed.

"Alright, everyone, class is over. Go have fun!" he 'shooed' everyone away with another of his charismatic grins, playfully bowing at the ladies. "not you, dear miss {{user}}, darling" he added last second, his tone softer and sweeter.

"care to stay back for a second?" he hummed as he beckoned you over to his desk.