An Ink-written Goodbye

When the great clock tower had struck three, I froze in horror, stopping any train of thought that might've flown onto the page. There were only four hours and fifty-nine minutes until the train for the city arrived, four hours and fifty-nine minutes until my older sister, Nicole, was lost in the city, happily studying the art of creative writing, just as she dreamed. 

***

Nicole had loved writing ever since I could remember, often crafting short bedtime stories for the younger kids or scaring the older ones with tales of horror and thrills. Even now, she was never out without her black journal and the black pen. 

As Nicole grew older, her crazy ideas became long, calculated novels. She spent many a day hunched over her laptop, creating exciting plots and dashing characters. 

Her dream of becoming an author came within striking distance when she entered a big writing contest. Nicole’s story—a beautifully crafted tale of first love—won the hearts of the judges and secured first prize. Upon reviewing her submission, one of the judges—an accomplished author and university faculty member—awarded her a creative writing scholarship to their institution. 

We found out about that a month ago.

For that month, Nicole was the pride of our family. She was the only one who managed to go to university; our family sadly didn't have enough money or knowledge to get into a good college, let alone a university. 

Mum gave her an exquisite dress; Da gave her a golden watch, a precious family heirloom. Tommy, the youngest brother, gave her his favourite toy; Lily, the youngest sister, gave her a drawing of Nicole. 

Originally, I was going to get her a book, her favourite Beauty and the Beast. She had always loved the book as a child, and I wanted to give it to her to remind her of her childhood, of her family, of… me. Sadly, with my daily allowance, there was no way that I could afford it.

So I thought of the perfect replacement: my own original novel.

For my brilliant plan, I stole her old, blue typewriter and plenty of sheets of paper. I stared down at those sheets of paper; I stared at the keys of that typewriter. I felt like I would never get an idea, that Nicole would get on that train and say goodbye without me even giving her a gift. 

But gradually, ever so gently, ideas began forming in my mind, and they soon found their way onto paper. Bit by bit, I created characters and pieced together interesting scenarios. Just as steadily, I realized why my sister loved writing as much as she did.  

Maybe it was because in that tiny world of ink and paper, you were in control of every word that you never could in the real world. Maybe it was the thrill of knowing in your heart that you had created something that could bring joy to so many. Maybe it was because you could just be. 

Just you, your thoughts, and a typewriter. 

***

I was almost done with my novel now. 

My story was about a young woman named Maya, a very charming scholar hoping to study the magical world. On her travels to another foreign country known for its folklore and myths, she met Oak, a young elf. What began as a calculated alliance to uncover the secrets of each other's worlds soon evolved into both Maya and Oak falling in love. However, the folklore world and the real world didn’t overlap, and they tried their best to make their star-crossed romance work out. 

It wasn't as deep as Nicole's or as adventurous as hers either. But it was soft, warm, and creative, just like home. I was one chapter away from finishing it, and wrapping it up to give to Nicole. 

I stared down at that blank paper, fingers gently on the letters. This was the chapter where Maya and Oak say goodbye, and to me, it was the most important part of my book. I wanted it to be close to home for Nicole, so she could feel all the emotion that I had written through the pages. 

I had written plenty of drafts for this scenario. Some of them were deeply romantic and passionate; a few were sorrowful and deep. Others were lacking in emotion; others were drowning in it. 

For some reason, whatever plot I had created didn't seem right to me. It felt…incomplete. Each idea seemed unfinished; wanting another ending, another chapter, another part. 

But this was it; the last chapter.

As I stared at each letter, as desperation and paranoia slowly started to sink in, I heard a knock on the door. 

“Hey,” Nicole called out, leaning against the door frame, “Can I come in, or are you busy? I can come again later if you want.” 

“No, It's fine, Nicole!” I yelled, hurriedly covering my typewriter in sheets of paper. “Come in. I’m not busy in any way.”

Nicole nodded and walked up to my bed, sitting down in it elegantly. Her dark brown hair was styled in a loose, kinky ponytail, this time stuffed underneath a white beanie. She held her gold-rimmed glasses in her hands, steadily wiping them away with a handkerchief. She was dressed in a simple low-cut blouse, the cream colour fitting her honey-coloured skin perfectly; her deep fudge-coloured coat was almost done, a few buttons undone. Nicole already had her beige scarf wrapped loosely around her shoulders.

Nicole coughed, “It’s almost time for me to leave soon.”

I nodded. “Our Nicole goes travelling in the city. Are you nervous?”

Nicole laughed. “If I weren’t worried about going into the city, then I would be hunched over my laptop, writing about the day that I had to leave my home.”

Her gaze dropped to my clumsily hidden typewriter. “I wanted to find my typewriter as well. It was a memento to me.”

I felt sweat bead down my neck. What if she found out that I was trying to write a story to her? What if she found out that I “borrowed” her typewriter? I would never hear the end of it!

“… oh well.,” She continued, “I think that it has a better home now.”

As I stared at her, confusion written on my face, Nicole quickly dusted the papers away, revealing the typewriter and the blank papers still inside. I quickly dropped my gaze to the floor, the ceiling, anywhere away from Nicole and the typewriter. 

Nicole stared at me; I could feel the intensity of her look. We sat in awkward silence, and each second felt like a century. I was practically about to explode when she gently tapped my shoulder. “Who knew that you would get a feel for writing as soon as you heard I’m about to leave?”

I faced her again, quite sure that my whole face was slightly red. The cat was clearly out of the bag now, so I admitted, “I didn’t mean anything. I was only trying to write you a story before you went. Beauty and the Beast was far too expensive for me.”

“I meant it as a joke.” Nicole responded, “I’m quite happy that you wanted to write a book for me. What chapter are you on?”

I looked down at the blank paper again. “The last chapter. Since you're an amazing author, I could use your advice. How would you write the final goodbye?”

Nicole paused. “I would make it bittersweet and melancholic. Not overflowing with emotion; otherwise, it wouldn’t be a very happy book. Make it just simple enough, so that when the reader turns the final page, they feel a bit of sadness and happiness for your characters.” 

As what she said gradually sank in, Nicole stood up and dusted her jeans. “I’m going to go and leave you be for now, so you can finish that last chapter. I still have a bunch of suitcases to pack before my train arrives.”

With that, she walked up to the door, pausing at the doorknob. “I can’t wait to read it!”

***

Nicole’s words lingered in my mind long after she closed the door, her footsteps gradually receding into the distance. Now that I knew she fully supported my writing, I felt more drive to finish and see Nicole’s reaction. I faced the typewriter again, this time with a goal in mind. My hands were already itching to type away; each letter was torturing my poor brain. 

“Let’s get this over with!” I whispered. 

And I let my thoughts word themselves on paper.

***

By the time the clock struck four, I was giddy with relief. It felt like I had given my blood, sweat and tears to this final chapter. My creativity was flowing while writing this chapter, and I’m extremely happy with how it turned out. It was bittersweet, happy and—hopefully—nostalgic to Nicole. 

Staring at my finished product, I read it one last time. 

“Maya clutched her journal to her chest, but the grief in her heart was unexpectedly softened by the undeniable wonder of everything they had shared. Oak stood inches away, his silver eyes shining not with defeat, but with a fierce, enduring love.

“I’m going to miss you,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek, though a small, bittersweet smile touched her lips. “Who’s going to correct my terrible translations of ancient elven poetry?”

“You'll just have to listen for my voice in the rustling leaves,” Oak teased gently, though his voice cracked with emotion.

Already, his hands were beginning to shimmer, his form softening into a luminous, golden mist. The pull of his realm was calling him home, as the mortal world could no longer hold a creature of myth. 

“I’m not leaving you forever, Maya,” Oak murmured, stepping forward. “Just stepping back into the shadows.

He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her one last time. Cupping her face in his warm, glowing hands, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was everything—desperate yet sweet, tasting of starlight and shared secrets. For one brief, beautiful second, the cruel divide disappeared completely, leaving only two hearts beating in unison.

As their lips parted, Oak’s laughter flared into the air like a song as his body gently dissolved into a cascade of effervescent golden particles. They swirled around Maya in a playful, affectionate breeze, brushing her cheek like a final tender kiss before drifting across the unseen line, back to his side of the world.

"Keep writing our story, scholar," his voice echoed in her heart, rich with warmth and light. "I’ll be waiting at the edge of the woods."

Maya stood in the quiet twilight, watching the golden light settle into the trees. Her heart ached with a profound, quiet longing, but as she opened her journal to write the first line of their legend, she smiled through her tears.

***

I sorted the chapters in order and used my mother’s needle and thread to stitch the pages together, binding them into one. Once I was satisfied, I took the leather book cover I got at the market and placed it inside. 

The person who made it owed me a big favour—my reward for having to skin all those chickens—and they truly outdid themselves. The dark leather was in excellent condition; the extra gold leaves surrounding it really made it look like a scholar's journal. My favourite part was undoubtedly the title. It was in gold and in slight cursive. It made my title, ‘The Scholar and The Elf ’, feel more sophisticated than it would in regular print. 

I stared at the book, my first novel and felt pride deep in my heart. With this novel, everyone would know that I, too, was officially a writer now, just like Nicole. 

***

I knocked on Nicole’s door. “Nicole, are you still there. I’m officially done with my novel now. Can you read it? If you can’t, I’ll come back later and—”

That was as far as I got before the door swung open, almost hitting me in the face. Nicole was staring at me, hands outstretched and a fat smile taking up half her face. She was still dressed in the same outfit, but her jacket was loosely tied around her hips, and her beanie was slightly off. Nicole’s scarf was nowhere to be seen; her ponytail was messy. 

Staring greedily at my novel, she escorted me inside her room. It was a marvel how she managed to clean it all. Where discarded projects and half-written papers were once strewn about, the space was now organized, with everything packed into large boxes. In the corner, for possibly the first time in forever, her bed was properly made; not flung about like it usually is. 

“Wow, Nicole,” I say, “I can’t believe that you got everything cleaned up in an hour!”

Nicole grinned at me. “I know! But I really wanted to read your novel, so I worked my butt off!”

I slowly handed my book to her, trying to stop my hands from shaking. “It's not as good as yours. I hope you know that.”

She gently smiled at me. “How should I know that unless I read it for myself? You spent a whole month working on this story. Many people your age don’t have the patience and the motivation to write and make it flow at the same time. But you do!”

I was shocked. Nicole had always been terrible at encouraging speeches. Knowing that the big sister I strived to be like was my biggest fan sent tears flowing down my face. As I stood there, trying to compose myself, she slowly held my hands in hers, giving me a beautiful smile. “I truly believe that this story is a work of art.”

I’m guessing Nicole realized that writing is also called language arts, because she quickly said, “No pun intended.” 

Before I could roll my eyes, Nicole snatched the book from my hands and giggled her way to the first page. Silence followed until Nicole noticed I was still there.

“Your story’s amazing.” She mumbled, slowly flipping a page. “I’ll get back to you once I’m finished. In the meantime, why don’t you write a biography?”

Before I could respond, Nicole pushed me out the door.

***

Nicole never stopped reading my book.

She read it in her bed, legs up in the air, blanket already wrinkled. She was always flexible, and if she weren’t an author, I’m positive she would’ve been a gymnast. 

She read it when we ate lunch one last time, careful not to spill anything on the pages; Mom yelled at her to stop reading and enjoy the last meal we’ll have together. We all laughed at that. She read it as she packed the remainder of her things. 

Nicole was still reading it when we piled into Dad’s old car to the train station. Mom couldn’t stop crying; Dad was holding her tight and teasing her ever so slightly. Lily and Tommy were both bawling so hard that Nicole took her attention off the book and held them tight. I was much calmer, staring at Nicole as she closed the book with a happy sigh, and as the train steadily approached. 

Nicole hugged everyone one last time before she looked at me. “Your book was the best gift I received. When you’re my age, maybe you could become a writer too.”

Me, an author! I would’ve laughed if she wasn’t so serious. Nicole was always serious with me whenever I talked to her about my dreams. Remembering all those memories, I felt tears sting my eyes as she hugged me one last time, and I squeezed her so hard that she was wheezing at me to let go. When we did, her eyes were glassy too, and a teardrop slid down her face.

As soon as she handed her ticket to the conductor and stepped aboard, Nicole turned to stare at us one last time just as the train sounded its whistle and began to move. Slowly, she leaned out the window, giving us a big grin. 

And she waved like a crazy woman, keeping it up until the conductor started yelling at her. I could hear him screeching at her to stop. Mom bawled just as hard as Lily and Tommy; Dad quietly herded them to the car. And for me, well, I kept waving until the train was far into the horizon, and continued with my other arm until it felt sore. 

“Goodbye, Nicole!” I whispered, slowly turning towards the car. “When I’m finished with my next book, you’ll be the first to read it.”

***