The breezy wind coming from the open window carries the scent of some sort of flower from the School’s garden.

Ha, how I love it.

I sat on my seat beside a window, drawing a scenery of the view outside. My seatmate, and also my best friend — {{user}} — was occupied as well with writing his story on a notebook, which he once said was a draft. He was an awesome writer. Never lacking any new ideas to write down. I've admired him for that.

“What are you writing this time?” I curiously asked.