Next part. Might be crumbly and all. boring too. once again, if u do get bored along the way, stop and tell me where u stopped. Thanks for all your comments! They're much appreciated.

“What are you doing?” A curious voice questioned. It was now my turn to look up in surprise. The teenage girl was now looking over the table. A sudden sense of comfort filled my heart. Smiling, I lifted my notebook up from where it usually sits on my lap. I placed it on the table and re-positioned my pen above it. “I am writing. Well every working woman does have to relax once in a while right? Though I get busy with my teaching and stuff, I let my imagination run wild in my notebook ever so often. It’s my own world in here,” I replied, eyes shining with excitement.

The girl raised her eyebrows in question. Oh dear, do I sound weird to her? I hesitated for a while. But my talkative friendly nature soon took over me and I began again. “Ha-ha, yes, I still do have a bit of a child in me. Don’t mind, do you? I’m not that old… Erm, here, you can have a look at my notebook.” I passed my precious notebook to her. Not pausing for long, she reached out her hand for my notebook. “I don’t usually let people read through what I’ve written in that notebook. No one knows what I write inside actually. These are but only my first drafts, the sketchiest of all my works. I am now only about halfway through my latest story,” I now began to reconsider whether I should have let her into my little secret world of imaginations.

No one had ever managed to unlock my house of secrets; no one, save the giver of the most powerful love. But here I am passing out letters from the cracks under the safely locked door. No, no, that won’t do. I’m going back to my old locked-up self. That won’t do, I managed to coerce myself to think otherwise.

The girl flipped through the pages. To what exact page, I have no idea, but she seemed to be settling into my latest story. Yikes, my life story. First I’m showing her my notebook, and then she ends up reading my life story. I never expected to draw this young lady so much into my world but somehow, I found myself doing so. Or maybe, she immersed herself unknowingly into mine. As she flipped through the pages of my notebook, she seemed to look no longer like the wayward teenage drunkard, but instead, I seemed to have glimpsed a soft yet crumbling chamber inside her heart beyond the hard covering of rebellion.