Chapter Two: Maria

A diary?

I bent down, crouching as my hands softly picked up the book. It was thin and sleek, having a crimson coated color on its’ surface. There was a design of a rose on the surface of the velvet cover, embedded into the material.

Turning the diary to the side, I noticed that the frames of the pages were all shiny and crispy white, as if the diary had never been used. But once I opened it, I knew my first assumption was quite wrong.

In bold and capital lettered writing, it read on the first page:


The handwriting was medium-sized. The space in each ‘a’ was big, letters spaced out and cautiously written as if to maintain the perfection of the book. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought the diary belonged to a teenage girl, the one who must have lived here before.


“Coming!” I yelled back, eyes unwavering from the page. Curiosity overwhelmed me. I wanted to read through the entries in this dairy, not only because I had no real agenda for the day (though that was the main reason I’d even found the diary in the first place). I thirsted to know more because the appearance of the diary itself seemed to call out to me.

The deep flush of red, the elegant yet somehow forcedly written name, the thorned rose engraved onto the cover…it peaked my curiosity. Yet the idea of even reading a word of the diary seemed wrong. Not only was this not my property but the words on the pages of this book would consist of secret emotions and heartfelt experiences of this ‘Maria’. I couldn’t possibly intrude into a girl’s privacy like that.

But a contradicting point resounded in my head. I’d probably never meet this girl. And the chance of her coming back was quite unlikely. So why not…give it a little peek?

My finger traced the edge of the page, slipping under and started to turn it when a more impatient shout of my name reverberated through the air.


Groaning, I stood up, crossing the room and placing the diary on top of my bed side table before heading downstairs. Mum stood at the entrance to the living room, hands on her hips.

“You’re supposed to be helping young man,” she ordered.

Rolling my eyes, I muttered to myself, “Can’t a guy take a decent and long break around here?”

She’d heard me but chose to ignore what I’d said, ushering me into the guest bedroom where dad was opening the boxes. It was going to be a long day. Yet, I couldn’t wait for night to come by when I could finally settle down with the diary: Maria’s diary.

The End

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