for only a second [lifestyle]

chalk stars

by Tarini Malhotra

Gold and shimmer stream by the open window; the solar is out, and he or she warms my cherry blossom latte. She is radiant however flimsy as a result of it’s spring, and he or she has no qualms about abandoning us. I promise you, although, that it’s fairly alright—Providence is a metropolis of stars, and we twinkle regardless. 

I don’t suppose anybody’s shocked after I inform them I beloved getting gold stars at school after I was a toddler, however solely you and I do know that stars are my favorite factor to attract. You knew me after I would play with bubbles and fill the margins of my notebooks with buildings product of two reverse overlapping triangles. You witnessed my transition to five-pointed stars as lopsided because the curls in my hair, and we listened to SOUR collectively, stuffed with unknown angst, as my stars turned extra excellent and symmetrical with the stableness of my hand. Now you’re 1000’s of miles away, and you’ll’t probably see after I discover yellow and pink stars scrawled on the sidewalks of Providence, and I secretly forgive the solar for leaving me, as a result of no less than she’s travelling to the tropics, particular for you. The shadows of shade curl round my toes with unkept guarantees, however that cinnamon-scented cafe downtown has a blackboard the place kids play with chalk, and I drew twin stars, identical to these on the kites within the lounge, only for us. 

Sunshine and rainbows had been suspended within the air once more, however they had been gone inside just a few hours. But there are hand-drawn stars etched on whispering whiteboards and time-tested bricks and the illos I make for post-, they usually fill me with sparkle anew. It’s 10:45 p.m. right here, and the celebrities are nonetheless shining: Good morning! Can I name you? 

a candy return

by Gabrielle Yuan

I’ve lately been spending time with somebody who was muddled however emerged from the interworking of many mutual associates. It’s unfamiliar, even to myself, that solely after a month of attending to know her utterly on her personal, I instructed her her eyes jogged my memory of Cadbury eggs (unromantic and unironic), additional detailing that they had been particularly the indulgent caramel-filled ones that really feel neverending with every chew. I used to be much more shocked when my palms didn’t clam up after we held arms for the primary time, or, when the wind took full liberty over my barely too brief, uneven bangs, I had the identical energy and want to look nonetheless into her spherical eyes to comb her personal mane out of the best way. As somebody deeply unable, regardless of many makes an attempt, to detach from the nuances of fulfilling social cues, constantly discovering methods to keep away from awkward silences by infinite questions, these exact same questions maintain a brand new weight when positioned at her. They’re by some means lighter, like an ethereal minty breath, and I’m courageous sufficient to carry onto even much less to her. The notion of return is robust, the concern barely current. 

furry encounters

by Elaina Bayard

Just a few weekends in the past I used to be in Boston. There had been a confluence of occasions: A high-school pal was visiting her boyfriend within the metropolis, one other high-school pal was driving up from New York together with his companion, and I used to be free for the primary time in ceaselessly. So all of us gathered. And none of us, apparently, thought to test the climate.

We huddled collectively within the Boston Common: gloomy, grey sky; biting winds; an unwillingness to open our wallets and take refuge in a Caffè Nero. The sun-adorned cardigan I used to be sporting felt notably merciless.

Then, in our faltering, chilly dialog, certainly one of us stated, “Huh?” We adopted the guiding finger, and huh certainly. A squirrel. Without his tail. When he bounded throughout the grass, it appeared like an animation glitch, the sleek wave stopping early. He appeared ignorant to our enchantment, fortunately journeying up and down timber. 

Eventually the wind returned and we caved to the attract of a heat drink, however, briefly, we’d been so amused that the whole lot else fell away.

onto to the subsequent step

by Hallel Abrams Gerber

I spent the vast majority of final week working the size of Hope Street at nighttime. Moving from meals with home-people to my dorm and piles of labor, I discovered myself deliriously making rhythms out of the bricks.

When I used to be a toddler, I spent each automobile journey as if I had been in a online game, peering out the window and utilizing my eyeline to assemble an imaginary avatar leaping from constructing to constructing as we drove previous. I’ve since grow to be extra centered on the street in entrance of me, attempting to not hit anybody, fairly than wanting on the scenes passing me by.

But one thing about final week introduced me again to that sport: an ordering of duties, an intrinsic silliness, even my very own created sound results, as I moved with out considering twice. In the midst of midterms and papers and plenty of mini-worries, I used to be alone and skipping, replaying a job with no duties.

ceaselessly a theater child

by Jessica Lee

Every time I make the journey to New York, I’m reminded of my deep musical theatre roots. Since theatre doesn’t play a job in any of my present research or extracurriculars, it typically turns into a distant a part of my previous, a long-lost dream. I neglect the extent of how a lot pleasure it brings me till I’m sitting in a Broadway theatre, watching the home lights dim, and having fun with the hush of the gang because the overture begins to play. From that second on, I’m utterly enthralled and nothing else issues. For two hours, I don’t test a single notification, my thoughts does not wander, and I’m extra current and centered than I might ever dream of being in any lecture or class. It’s partly out of affection for the artwork kind itself, partly out of affection and respect for the performers. I like watching the little moments onstage when the actors attempt to make one another break or sneak in an unchoregraphed 8-count of their selecting. I like squinting by the darkness or peeking into the wings to look at the units altering and props shifting. I like noticing each element I can. For two hours, I’m utterly transported to a different world. And for the various hours that observe, my very own world turns into crammed with new harmonies.

unbound love

by Chloe Costa Baker

Picture us on the Hope High School playground, late one night time. The Nelson is closed and I’m right here with my companion, heading off a depressive episode with train, or one thing. Out on the soccer subject, sprinklers slowly intersect like safety guards’ flashlight beams.

Every floor is dappled with raindrops—swing seats, bench tops, pull-up bars—however I don’t notably care if my three-year-old Uniqlo shoulder bag will get moist. As I’m going to set it down, one thing beneath the bench catches my eye, dimly within the lamplight. I’m not sporting my contacts, however I do know instantly that it’s a e book. It’s type of the quintessential picture of 1: blue cowl, white pages, clothbound. No gaudy jacket or industrial textual content. A easy icon, sprouted like a fungus within the wild. When I choose it up, I discover it utterly dry.

There is a compass icon frivolously embellished on the duvet and a three-word identify on the backbone. Inside, pictures and writings from household, associates, and family members abound. It is a celebration of the lifetime of this man who apparently died in February of 2025—he would have been three years youthful than my mother and father. According to the opening pages, a memorial occasion came about April 10, 2025, simply over a 12 months in the past. But the e book is pristine. The e book lives.

I really feel like crying another way than earlier than: unhappy in a full method, fairly than the vacancy of despair—feelings gently watercolored, not carved in black and white. Glancing throughout the sector on the castle-like edifice of Hope, I glimpse what seems to be a stained glass window in its topmost turret. Unexpected for a highschool constructing—I can’t fairly inform if it’s actual or a trick of the sunshine. My companion says he sees it too. To my eye, it’s only a blurry beacon of not possible orange, purple, and blue.

you’ve acquired mail

by AJ Wu

This semester has include few surprises. Most of my days are blocked in comparable colours and proportions on my GCal and I’m hesitant that, if dealt a Groundhog Day state of affairs, I’d have the ability to acknowledge it in fewer than three days. Not to say that I’m discontent—it’s a contented type of monotony, I believe. routine. The different day, I checked my mail and located a postcard in it from a childhood pal finding out overseas. She had despatched it some time in the past, however I had uncared for my Page-Robinson mailbox for just a few weeks and it was a vivid shock in the course of the afternoon. On the entrance, she had painted a swan she noticed lately in a park. I miss you! And God, did I miss her too. It’s humorous how briskly we will grow to be acclimated to most issues. Distance is practiced, turns into routine, and all of a sudden it’s been months since I’ve had a dialog with somebody who was the middle of my life. I referred to as my pal and tried to lose monitor of time.

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Jessica Lee

Jessica Lee is the Copy Chief (and typically a author!) for post- Magazine. She is from Huntington Beach, California, and got here to Brown as a RUE pupil after wrapping up her profession as a aggressive determine skater on Team USA and a principal performer with Disney on Ice. She’s one of many few Linguistics concentrators on campus and can by no means cease defending the Oxford comma!

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Elaina Bayard

Elaina Bayard is Editor-In-Chief at post- Magazine. When she’s not buried beneath a mountain of readings from her English focus, she’s in all probability buried beneath a mountain of yarn from her crochet dependancy.