Chapter 79 - The Quiet Afternoon in Room 112
On a quiet Friday afternoon in late summer, between administrative meetings and federal policy reviews, I walked alone across the sunlit campus quad toward Whitmore Hall.
The building was wonderfully peaceful. I unlocked the side service entrance and walked down the familiar hallway until I reached Room 112. I turned the brass handle and stepped inside. The room was pristine, quiet, and perfectly maintained.
May you like
I walked up to the podium, opened the small wooden chalk tray, and looked down. Neatly arranged in a precise, unbroken row by shade were the colored chalk markers: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple.
The new student worker keeping the room immaculate had preserved the tradition. I smiled, reaching out to gently touch the blue marker. I didn't feel any lingering shadow of the past. Every struggle had been an essential equation leading to this moment of absolute sovereignty and peace.
