The sunlight flashed through the windowsill, onto the notebook on her desk.
The constant tapping of the pen, the continuous air conditioner breeze, and the persistent sound of running cars, all paired with her tired look make for a lazy afternoon.
Charlotte Whitlock always strives to be productive, yet here she is doing nothing to help her "writer's block".
Her deadline has been pushed back far enough.
'Why can't I come up with something?' she complained and took a sip from her water bottle.
Charlotte is a very well-known author across the globe. Over the years, she has written many best-selling books with different themes about the changing world.
She is known for constantly questioning the different views of the world and the morality of mankind.
Yet, this best-selling author can't get herself to write.
Feeling defeated and drained, she lets her mind wander.
She started to reminisce about her past teacher, who recently passed away.
This was one of the main reasons she can't get herself to think straight.
Her teacher was also an author who was loved in the literature circle. He would always talk about a new novel he found or a new concept he read. He would always help her and guide her during moments like these when her head was empty. He always managed to inspire her to reach further into different concepts.
She had great respect for him and viewed him as her esteemed mentor. She missed his habit of rambling on and on about a topic and how he always knew what to say to make her laugh whenever she was down.
He was honestly more of a parental figure to her, and she always thought she would never lose her way with him around. She didn't account for a future without him, until now.
It wasn't easy accepting his passing. She closed herself from the world for days on end, just hoping, wishing, it was just a joke her teacher played on her.
Of course, who would joke about death? During her grieving period, she wasn't rational and started making excuses to help herself cope. She knew she was making up lies, but when reflected upon, it was just human nature.
With time, she slowly got back to normal and accepted his loss. No matter the impact they had on your lives, people come and go. He has passed away and she has to just let go.
One of the ways she usually copes with life was writing.
Simply put, it was her life's passion.
Imagining stories gave her a place to escape whenever she needed comfort. It was also something she and her teacher shared and loved.
But because it was something she linked greatly to her mentor, she couldn't get herself into the mood of escaping, every aspect of it reminded her of him.
Even though she accepted his loss, she lost the motivation to continue.
Over time, writing became a chore for her and it no longer gives her the joy she used to feel.
With that thought in mind, she was brought back to reality.
'Honestly, what am I going to do?' she started to complain again.
She then suddenly thought of something. She stood up, letting her long hair flow down her back, and began walking to the bookshelf.
She pulled out a book with a wretchedly worn-out cover. This was what her mentor gave her before he died.
She remembered it vividly as if it were yesterday.
"Take it, it's something I have had for quite some time now," her teacher told her, handing out the book.
"What is it? Is it a journal? You like writing diaries?" she questioned with a look of anticipation on her face.
He gave a low chuckle and then replied "I don't keep diaries. Too much of a hassle to write something every day."
He continued, "It's... sort of a keepsake and I want you to have it."
Curiously, she tried to open the book, only to find that she couldn't. She tried to open it several times afterward but to no avail.
"It...won't...budge...open!" she said between grunts.
He once again laughed at her, "It will only open when you are in need of it. Once you truly feel like giving up on writing, try to open the book."
She kept asking more questions but only to be shot down with "when the time is right."
She let out a small noise as she mimicked him, "'When the time is right'. You probably glued the pages together or something..."
He only smiled and never brought it up again.
'It has been a few years, and I am in dire need of some sort of inspiration. Might as well give it a try,' she shrugged.
To her surprise, it opened and her vision started to fade to black.