Introduction (English Version)

April 4th, 2026 — Amsterdam

I would say that this, apparently, has not been my first time writing—yet it is my first time truly WRITING. My first time writing a book? No. My first time writing with a personally innovative style? I don’t think so. Perhaps I am entering a different genre. Perhaps something more romantic? Dramatic? Cold? Not quite.

After writing a few times in the past, it has been a while, and now I feel the need to begin again. To begin something new—something that pleases me. Something that makes me want to write until the end. The end? But what end? I am not saying there might not be one. I am saying there will be one. The end? But what kind of end? I am referring to the kind that may or may not truly end.

April 4th, 2026. Who said the story ends here? Perhaps it doesn’t. Perhaps it continues. But then again—what story? Whose story? After several writing experiences, I realized that among all the personalities I have written before, I am not there. Not that my story stands out, or that it must be told. Perhaps it doesn’t have to be told. Perhaps it has to be observed—told from another perspective. Narrated by the one who lived it.

Now, reflecting on it, I have come to realize that if this is a romance, then I am both the protagonist and the narrator. The question is: is this a romantic romance? I wouldn’t say “romantic.” Not that it isn’t—but it is a bad romance. Not a bad book, but a bad love story. Not bad because it is sad, but because it is incoherent.

In fact, as of April 4th, I would not even consider this a love story yet—perhaps a story of social tension. Love stories usually have an ending, whether happy or tragic. Ours does not seem to have ended. Not that a social story cannot end in tension. I could always forget it, and in that moment, it would end. Yet I imagine it may return, and later on, it may indeed become a love story. Or perhaps I am simply avoiding what we call “cliché romance.”

However, there is one important detail: if a love story only ends when it reaches its conclusion, then this book will only end when the social tension does first—whatever that may look like.

I feel like I have not made things entirely clear yet. Cahrrol is a 15-year-old European girl—studious and ordinary. “Ordinary,” as every introduction claims, yet by the end, perception always changes. Perhaps because I do not want to reveal too much just yet, or because I myself have not fully understood what has changed since the beginning of the story.

One thing you may have already noticed is that I do not specify the location where events take place. That is because, wherever it happens, names and places will not change the course of the story. Or perhaps I am simply avoiding the awkwardness of using original names. Still, this gives my creativity more freedom. One could assume that because my name sounds somewhat English, my nationality would follow—but my name may, or may not, be quite different: Lynnah Lynnd Cahrrol. We do not know.

Every mind should be free to imagine this story wherever it wishes. Except Amsterdam. You will understand later.

And yes… some things may seem strange, others less so. But all of them will be seen through my eyes.

Now, I will tell the seemingly ordinary—yet anything but ordinary—present story of Cahrrol, narrated by myself.

Cahrrol — The Things I Noticed — The In-Between Diaries

The First Glance

June 6th, 2025

Eighth grade… some say it is the hardest… others say it is the least exhausting. A year meant for experiences. What does my academic reputation matter? It always matters, however…

I mean, in eighth grade I am still two academic years away from it truly—truly—mattering. In ninth grade, I will be only one year away, a year I plan to use to build habits and discipline. A greater sense of maturity. What I mean is that this could have been my opportunity to actually enjoy my social life.

I didn’t.

Perhaps because, since the beginning of the year, I had romanticized school. What does my social life matter? I will socialize with books instead. Little did I know the weight I was already carrying before even feeling it on my shoulders. That couldn’t be happening. I had never felt something like this before. Was it good? Was it bad? I would say… shocking. I had never imagined something like this happening to ME. Yes—specifically me.

But what exactly? I can’t even explain it.

All I know is that I was leaving my beloved locker. I heard the usual noise. There was always chaos and loudness in the hallways as classes waited for the next lesson. I think those were the moments when I stood out the most.

My class was 8th D. Perhaps I should even consider it the worst class of the entire eighth grade. The classroom where I had lessons was right next to 8th C. That makes sense. Maybe it’s irrelevant. Or maybe not.

As I walked, I casually glanced toward the neighboring classroom and saw a group of boys staring at me in a strange way. It was unsettling. That group—the foreign one. Logan.

I had always considered him ignorant, though not in a judgmental way, if that makes sense. He and his group were far too popular to be looking at me like that. What did Logan want now? And why is he so tall? If he stared at someone like me for that long, he might end up with scoliosis.

My thoughts were, unfortunately, interrupted by Logan’s voice:

— “Hey! My friend likes you!”

I was surprised. I never expected them to say something like that. I expected them to make fun of me instead. When I turned around, I didn’t look at Logan—but at the boy he was referring to.

Noah.

Meanwhile, Nathan and Evan were just laughing at the situation. Within a second, Noah was already denying—with an effort I had never seen before—whatever feelings he supposedly had for me:

— “That’s not true!”

I simply couldn’t process anything. I turned away and continued walking down the corridor, whispering to myself, “what the hell.” I kept walking until I reached my classroom. It wasn’t far.

I was immediately filled with questions. I saw Isadora and didn’t hesitate to tell her everything that had happened. Her reaction was strange—she should have been as shocked as I was, maybe because Logan was involved—but after everything, her reaction felt almost insignificant.

So I kept the moment to myself.

During class… actually, what class? What does class matter? A boy likes me. Wait… what if it’s all a joke? Noah could have denied it because his friends were pushing him onto the first random girl they saw. Or maybe because that wasn’t how he wanted the truth to be revealed.

I understand. If a friend exposed my feelings like that, in the middle of a hallway, I wouldn’t admit it either. Still, Logan seems exactly like the type to make that kind of joke. For example:

Logan: — “Go find someone.”

Noah: — “I don’t think so.”

Logan: — “Hey! My friend likes you!”

Obviously, it sounds ridiculous. But I am far too skeptical to believe that Noah actually likes me.

Curiously, I felt too neutral. Perhaps because I was still processing everything that had happened. Or because school mattered more to me than boys. I was far too focused on improving my academic reputation to even notice them.

April 4th, 2026

At the time, I didn’t consider it relevant.

Today, I’m not so sure.

Chapter 2 — As If It Meant Nothing

I once read in one of my psychology books that one of the most effective ways to understand a group’s intention is to analyze the type of impact they have on different people and on the situation as a whole. For instance, if the group’s goal were to make fun of me, I would be the one humiliated—not Afonso or the group.

It is almost unquestionable who the target of humiliation was—Noah. Logan’s intention was not malicious; it was simply thoughtless. Since Noah was the one being humiliated, I could not have been the only one being mocked. The fact is: I was neither humiliated nor mistreated, therefore I was not the target. That would have been unusual. I am, oddly enough, usually respected.

To be clearer, if Logan’s intention had been to “ship” two people, then two people would have been humiliated—forced together, whether ideologically or even “physically-psychologically.” Since Noah was the only target, the intention behind the situation must have been different.

There are two possibilities: either Noah was being pushed toward a random, more unfamiliar girl—making the situation easier to forget—or he was being humiliated in front of the girl he actually had some level of interest or curiosity in.

One of the most effective ways to determine which of these possibilities is correct is through the observation of patterns. If provocations (with Noah as the target) or tension between the group and me continued, then the situation was likely not random—and vice versa.

June 7th, 2025

I don’t know if it was because I had too much coffee, but today I felt unusually aware of the people around me—and of that 8th C classroom. This state of mind made everything feel more intense, yet everything still seemed… normal.

The same noise, from the same people, as always. And the group? The same as well—almost as if the previous day had never happened. There were no new patterns. Not a single one.

Perhaps it was all just a joke. Perhaps it truly was a random situation. Or maybe Noah had set boundaries. Who knows?

Even so, there were no provocations, no tension. It was more likely to have been nothing.

It is better to forget this situation. At least school is not incoherent. That is why I choose school over those boys.

I could start by going to the library and reading a great science book. Then I could stop by a café and buy another latte. By then, half of what happened would already be forgotten. After that, I would go home and begin the abundant homework from that math teacher. It was just one exercise.

Then I would pass by the flower shop and buy sunflowers. And yes—attractive girls buy flowers for themselves.

And then: what Noah? Do I even know Noah?

April 7th, 2026

The theory was simple: if the pattern did not continue, then everything that happened was insignificant.

The problem is—no one ever said that patterns are built the next day. Or the next month. Or even three months later.

It could take time. It could take a vacation.

No one knows.

Not even I did.