The Wistful Campus
The kettle whistled. It was a sharp, thin sound that cut through the damp silence of the dormitory room. Elias turned the gas off. The flame died with a soft pop. He looked at the water in the pot. It was clear. It was cold. He poured it into the teacup. The steam rose, twisting like a ghost trying to leave a house. He sat at the desk. The wood was scratched. A pen lay next to a small, white...
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