The power of myth

I step out of the bustling hallway into the relative calm of the university courtyard, clutching my phone. The sun casts a warm, golden glow over the campus, but my mind is anything but serene. I quickly pull out my phone from my backpack and dial Dr. Mead’s number.

As it rings, I glance around the bustling campus, students rushing to and fro between classes, the autumn leaves painting the trees in shades of red and gold. The backdrop of Columbia University feels both familiar and comforting.

“Hello, Liv,” Dr. Mead’s warm voice answers.

“Hi, Dr. Mead,” I respond, trying to keep my tone steady. “I’m really sorry, but I won’t be able to make it to our appointment this afternoon.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line, and I can sense her concern. “Is everything okay, Liv?”

I take a deep breath, my gaze momentarily falling to the ground. “Yes, everything’s fine. It’s just... something came up, and I can’t reschedule it. But I promise I’ll be there next week.”

Dr. Mead’s tone softens with understanding. “Of course, Liv. Your well-being is my priority. Just one thing before we end this call—have you noticed any changes, positive or negative, in your condition? Anything unusual about your medication?”

I hesitate, my mind briefly flickering to the strange occurrences of the past few days—the chance meeting with Liam, the mysteries of the book, and the sense of excitement that had overtaken me. “No, Dr. Mead,” I reply honestly. “I haven’t felt anything unusual. In fact, I’ve been… a lot happier lately. No more melancholy.”

A sigh of relief escapes her. “I’m glad to hear that, Liv. It’s important to keep an eye on these things. Remember, your Monday appointment is crucial.”

“I won’t forget,” I assure her, feeling grateful for her concern.

As I hang up, I can’t help but wonder about the recent changes in my life. It’s as if a newfound curiosity and energy have awakened within me, driving me to seek answers and embark on adventures I never imagined. I actually feel more alive than ever before.

Shaking off my reverie, I head to Professor O’Leary’s lecture, determined to uncover more about the mysteries that have piqued my interest.

The lecture hall is already filling up with students, the buzz of conversations and rustling of notebooks creating a lively atmosphere. I scan the room, searching for Liam. At the far end, I spot him, and he waves me over to the seat beside him.

As I make my way toward him, excitement courses through me. Liam and I exchange eager smiles, our shared sense of anticipation building between us.

“What about your appointment?” Liam asks. “Were you able to reschedule with your therapist?”

“Mischief managed,” I giggle. “Well, I didn’t lie… told her something’s come up—”

“Why are you in therapy, anyway?”

I hesitate for a moment, not sure whether I should tell him about my mental health, but perhaps I can give him a little credit for revealing his secret crazy.

“I suffered from bouts of depression when I was younger,” I finally say. “But I’m recovering nicely, thanks to Dr. Mead.”

He nods and offers a friendly pat on my shoulder. “Everyone goes through rough times, especially when you’re young and clueless about the world around you. I’ve had my moments, too… but never went for therapy.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know I’m not crazy.”

The lecture hall falls into a hushed reverence as Professor O’Leary strides in, his presence commanding immediate attention. The shuffle of students settling in their seats dwindles to silence, all eyes trained on the front of the room.

With a brisk nod, Professor O’Leary begins his lecture, and I lean forward, pen poised over my notebook. His voice resonates with authority, his words flow seamlessly, painting vivid pictures of mythical creatures woven into the tapestry of various cultures and contexts. I’m spellbound, every sentence pulling me deeper into the realm of ancient myths.

Then, as if unveiling a hidden gem, Professor O’Leary introduces his guest, Aleksander Kapel, the son of the enigmatic author of ‘Magical Beasts of the Endless’. The room seems to hold its breath as Aleksander steps forward, cradling a weathered notebook, its pages filled with the delicate script of his mother, Hannah Kapel.

My heart quickens with anticipation, knowing that this notebook holds the genesis of the very book that has consumed my thoughts in recent days. Aleksander’s voice carries a mixture of pride and nostalgia as he recounts the story of its publication. A tale of his childhood, marked by the loss of his mother, and the unexpected discovery of her manuscripts years later. In his early thirties, facing financial strain, he unearths this treasure trove of words, unlocking a legacy that would captivate the world. With painstaking dedication, he translates it to English and offers it to the world, and the rest is history.

As Aleksander speaks, I’m struck by the intertwining threads of fate and chance that have brought us all here. The notebook, a relic of his mother’s imagination, now serves as a bridge connecting us to a world of wonder and mystery. It’s a moment that feels almost surreal, as if the past and present have converged in this room, bound by the legacy of one woman’s creative spirit.

I steal a glance at Liam, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of awe and reverence. We exchange a knowing look, our shared journey into the depths of this story now intertwined with the very person who brought it to life. In this room, surrounded by the echoes of ancient tales, I can’t help but feel a sense of destiny at play, propelling us forward into the heart of this enigma.

The room erupts into applause, a chorus of appreciation for Aleksander Kapel’s unveiling of the treasured notebook. Professor O’Leary punctuates the moment with a thought-provoking quip, leaving us all to ponder the transformative power of fiction. “Never underestimate the power of fiction to spark a shift in the fabric of your reality. Because truth is far stranger than fiction… and it is never far from your grasp.”

As the professor’s last words linger in the air, the school bell chimes, signaling the end of the lecture. A flood of students streams out, leaving Liam and me rooted to our seats, a shared determination to seize this opportunity lingering in our gaze. We exchange a silent agreement to wait for the crowd to thin before approaching Professor O’Leary and Aleksander.

Just as we rise from our seats, a group of eager students beat us to the punch, surrounding the professor and Aleksander in a flurry of questions and admiration. Among them, a girl catches my eye, her friendly smile directed my way. I return it, though I can’t recall ever crossing paths with her before. Perhaps it’s the camaraderie of shared enthusiasm, an unspoken bond forged through our mutual appreciation.

Finally, the group disperses, leaving a window of opportunity for us to step forward. Professor O’Leary, with his characteristic warmth, introduces us to Aleksander Kapel. His eyes light up with genuine pleasure at meeting fellow enthusiasts of his mother’s work. Witnessing our sincere interest in this literary legacy, he extends a gracious invitation to his home in New Jersey. The prospect of delving deeper into Hannah’s manuscripts beckons.

“Can I expect you both for a barbecue lunch at my house this coming Sunday?” Aleksander asks, his anticipation mirrored in our eager nods and heartfelt acceptance. The promise of uncovering more about the mysterious author and her creations fills us with anticipation, propelling us into a new chapter of discovery.