"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, pencils down," a stern, clear voice called from the front of the lecture hall.
You could almost hear the collective sigh of relief as the end finally came. Both of the exam in front of us, and for the majority, our university careers. We had just taken our last final, a three hour long essay form on the history and impact of art and media, that had left my brain aching and my hand cramping.
No one stood as the invigilators collected the booklets and test papers, most people leaning back in their chairs, stretching their arms over their heads, or bending their sore hands backwards against the claw shaped deformities that they had become over the last few hours. A few students cast glances to their neighbors, but no one dared discuss the exam until all papers had been collected. It was a ritual ingrained in you early on in college. Don't even move until the exam has been removed from your table, incase you are accused of cheating. After freshman year and spikes of anxiety every time you needed to scratch your nose during a test for fear they may think you have the answers written on your pinky nail, you learned to just sit tight until you are dismissed.
Finally, all papers had been collected, all booklets filed into the professors file box for review and grading.
We were officially free.
Slowly, since most of us were hunched over and stiff from sitting so long, we filed out of the lecture hall. Once out of the building, onto the familiar streets of New York, it hit me.
Its over. The last three years of my life brought me to this moment, where I could say I had officially finished college. All the studying, all the late nights, all the endless hours in front of photo shop and in studios and searching for inspiration were over. At least in terms of my post secondary education.
Taking a deep breath, I couldn't stop the smile from coming to my face. I giggled at the relief that washed over me, sitting on a nearby bench for a few moments reflection.
It was all finished. It was a strange feeling, if I was being honest. Part of me was excited, eager to move on to the next stage of my life. Ever since I was a child, I knew what I wanted to be. This program gave me the education and credentials to pursue that goal. I earned that. But another part of me was terrified, because now I really did have to go out there, into the real world, and become an adult.
I was now an adult, in all intents and purposes. But how exactly does one act like an adult? What made you finally feel like you were that person, that someone would classify as 'adult'? I still found myself at times walking around the city, for whatever reason, looking for an adult. Someone who would know the answer to the question in my head, or where to go. Then it would hit me that I was classified as an adult myself, and this would cause me a moments panic. I would look around for someone else, someone 'more adult' than myself. Someone better at 'adulting' than myself. It was a vicious cycle adolescents faced...in a hurry to grow up, but afraid when you got there.
It was now Friday, and all my exams were completed. Tuesday was graduation, and my parents were scheduled to come in to the city that day for the event. After graduation, I would be attending the opening of the exhibition, and seeing which of my images had been selected by the panel for display. Professor Murray gave us our final project grades, but the images displayed were chosen by a panel of our faculty. A collective grouping of professors who had guided us and taught us through our time at NYU, would be seeing the results of their impact on our lives and our skills.
I was hands down more nervous about that one exhibition than any of the exams I had taken in the last three years.
Because the results of their choices, in turn impacted my own in terms of career options. Usually, students got three images from their final projects in the exhibit, up to a maximum of six. Only two students in NYU history ever got six in the exhibit. Both of which have worked for the likes of National Geographic, Vogue, and Harpers Bazaar. Needless to say, the reality was I would be happy with the three. I was proud and confident with my final project, but I wasn't going to get my hopes up to unrealistic or delusional expectations. I was a firm believer in expect less, and you wont be disappointed. But you will be pleased with anything more than what you thought.
One of the biggest things about the exhibit, for the students featured, was the prospect of interacting with prospective employers. Countless media personnel, editors, photographers and the like attended the event, both to view the work, and of sorts, interview possible hires. It wasn't just an exhibition to celebrate graduation. It was a job fair, in reality. You had to be prepared for anything, any question, any offer, any rebuttal. It was the single most stressful night I would endure, while also coupled with the single most exhilarating.
A gentle vibration in my back pocket brought me from my thoughts, back to the reality of the New York air blowing through my hair. Pulling the device from my pocket, I grinned.
"Hey," I answered.
"So, how did it go?" Harrys voice asked smoothly through the line. I could hear an endless chatter in the background, his voice slightly louder than he would normally speak to rise above the fray.
"I think it went well," I sighed, leaning back against the bench. "The main essay question was harder than I expected. I thought I had my answer planned out well enough, but then struggled to keep all my points in order."
"I'm sure you did brilliant, don't worry about it," he assured me, just as he always did.
"You ready for your exam?" I asked, knowing he was about to walk in to his own final exam in mere moments.
"I suppose so. All I have to do is blather some shit about Darcy and Elizabeth and I'll be grand."
"Harry,"
"I'm kidding, love," he laughed, knowing I hated it when he acted so nonchalant about his studies. "I went over the study guide last night until half two, I'm as ready as I'm going to be."
"I'm sure you'll do great," I offered, trying to give him the same encouragement he had been giving me all week.
Despite the tension between us last week, the more we spoke, the more we hung out, slowly things returned to normal. Or, at least, a version of normal. We didn't speak of our heated moment in my living room, nor did we address the remaining sexual tension between us in any form. Harry was still teasing, demonstrative, and occasionally moody when his stress levels rose or if he felt uncomfortable with something. Just as I was quiet, resistant and sassy with him when he got in a bad mood. For the most part, things were back as they were.
Except for me. Regardless of how normal I tried to act with him, I knew there was no going back for me now. Before, I was in a happy little oblivion, clueless as to the appeals and prowess of Harry Styles. Now, I couldn't pretend that I didn't know the taste of his lips, or the skills of his tongue. I couldn't pretend that I didn't lay in bed at night thinking of the feeling of his hands on my skin, his breath in my ear, and the feel of his hips grinding against mine.
It was a self imposed torture, but one I had no escape from. Because the only escape was to either tell Harry the truth, that I was falling for him, or to walk away from him completely. And the reality would be, in both cases, me losing him completely.
This current, albeit not ideal, arrangement was the only one I could maintain that left me with some part of what I wanted. I wanted him, as a friend if nothing more.
"Babe, they're letting us in now," Harry said, the chatter around him rising in volume. "I will call you when I'm out, okay?"
"Okay. Good luck,"
"Thanks. Talk to you soon,"
Hanging up my phone, I laid it in my folded hands, taking a few more moments to sit on this bench, on campus, as a college student. Because for some reason, I felt that the moment I walked away from this block, it was officially over. Heading home today would mark my first steps into my unknown future, so taking a few more moments to sit on this nice bench, on this peaceful street, completely ignored by the passers by, was my little form of solace.
I sat for a long while. Much longer than I planned. But I enjoyed the quiet, as I watched other students come and go from the building, many chattering about the exams they had just taken, marks they had received, or final papers they had submitted. This was the official final day of exams, so for all seniors, this was it.
Some hugged, laughing and congratulating each other coming out of the arts building. Others seemed anxious and stressed, undoubtedly reviewing the exam questions in their heads, wondering if they had selected the right answers. Most seemed relieved, a gentle smile on their faces as they simply walked from the building, turning down the street and out of view.
It seemed so easy for some, to just go. To finish their exams, and walk on with life. All the while, I still sat on this bench. Excited, but apprehensions. It was as if a part of me couldn't shake the feeling that even though I had just completed a huge step in my life, another one was just around one of these corners. The beginning of another uphill climb. The beginning of another beginning, right at the end of an ending.
My phone vibrated again in my hands, and as I glanced down I was surprised to see Harrys name. Looking at the time, I realized I had been sitting here for over two hours.
"Hey," I said quickly, pushing up from the bench and slinging my bag over my shoulder.
"My God, my hand is like a fucking claw," he complained. "I look like something from an Alfred Hitchcock movie,"
I laughed, shaking my head. "Exaggerate much?"
"No freaking sympathy," he muttered. "Where are you?"
"Um, still outside the arts building."
"Still?" he gawked. "Lane, its been over two hours, why are you still there?"
"Just sitting here, I guess," I admitted, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment.
"Contemplating life, are we?"
I snorted, rolling my eyes, before realizing he was exactly right. "Sort of,"
"Well, I'm starving, and could use a nice hand and arm massage. Want to grab an early dinner?"
"Sure," I agreed, pushing my hair behind my ear. "But I am not giving you a massage,"
My refusal caused Harry to laugh, a sound that brought a smile to my face. "That's my girl," he teased. "I'll meet you outside the arts building in ten."