The Second Pencil

Dying felt like sinking into black water — cold, quiet, and suffocating. I still remember the stench of burning tires, the long blare of a horn, and then… nothing but darkness.

When I opened my eyes again, the first thing I noticed was the scent of drawing charcoal. Not the sterile smell of a hospital, nor the damp earth of a grave, but the familiar fragrance of the 4B charcoal pencils I loved so dearly.

“Hey you, did you faint or just fall asleep?”

That voice made my heart stop. Thalia. Beautiful, slender, with long curly hair that made her look like a model. She stood before me wearing a white blouse and denim skirt, her face etched with worry — an expression I had never seen in my previous life, because back then, Thalia was no longer there. She had died during the second semester, in an accident at the college laboratory.

I looked down at my hands. I was wearing fingerless gloves and thick stockings, along with the loose black trousers I always wore. My hand moved up to touch my headscarf — long and flowing, reaching all the way down to my hips. Tucked neatly behind my ear was my trusted 4B pencil, just as it always was.

I was back. I had been given a second chance. And I was here, exactly one week before Thalia was meant to die.

The college art studio hummed with noise — the rustle of paper, the whirring of ceiling fans. I pressed a hand to my chest. I weighed 80 kilograms, stood 170 centimeters tall, and my skin was still dotted with acne across my chin and forehead. Everything was exactly the same as before, yet everything had changed, for this time, I knew exactly what was coming.

“Are you alright?” a male voice asked from beside me.

I turned around and saw Raven Hambaly. Standing at 185 centimeters tall, with broad shoulders and dressed in a plain black shirt, he had a soft warmth to his features, and deep dimples appeared whenever he smiled. In my past life, he had been nothing more than a senior I admired from afar. He graduated early, went on to become a renowned artist, and eventually married another talented painter — never once stopping to speak to me.

But now, here he was, holding out a bottle of mineral water towards me.

“Have a drink. You look quite pale,” he said gently.

I took it from him, and our fingers brushed lightly against each other. In my previous existence, a moment like this would have been nothing but a distant dream.

Thalia pulled a chair over and sat down opposite me. “You must be exhausted. That assignment from Mr. Azman is absolutely insane. Honestly, I feel like crying every time I look at my blank canvas.”

Mr. Azman. The final project. Next week, Thalia would stay late at the studio to finish her work, determined to get everything perfect. But that night, faulty wiring in the storage room at the back would spark a fire. Trapped and surrounded by flames, she wouldn’t make it out alive.

I gripped the pencil tucked in my headscarf so tightly my knuckles turned white. No. Not this time. Not again.

Over the next seven days, I stuck by Thalia’s side like a shadow. I made up every excuse I could think of — asking her to eat with me, to walk home together, even convincing her to work on assignments as a team. Raven seemed confused by my sudden change in behavior, but eventually, he joined us too.

“I’ve never known you to be so keen on group work,” Raven chuckled one afternoon as the three of us sat together at the campus café. “You’re usually holed up alone in some quiet corner, clutching those legendary pencils of yours like they’re your most prized treasure.” He nodded playfully toward the pencil peeking out from my headscarf.

I smiled softly. “I’ve had a change of heart, I suppose. Good friends are far more important than getting straight A’s.”

Thalia wrapped her arm around mine affectionately. “Aww, that’s so sweet! Ever since you fell off that chair the other day, you’ve turned into a completely different person — and I love it!”

Then came the day it was all supposed to happen. At 6 PM, Thalia began packing her things, preparing to stay late to put the final touches on her work.

“You two go on ahead,” she said. “I’ll just spend a little more time here, and then I’ll head home soon.”

My heart felt as though it was about to burst out of my chest. “Don’t do it, Thalia. Let’s come back early tomorrow morning instead. It’s dangerous to stay here alone at night — I heard there was an incident with faulty wiring and a fire not long ago.”

Raven looked up from his sketchbook, nodding in agreement. “She’s right. Besides, the night watchman, Uncle Samad, is known to fall asleep on duty. If anything were to happen, it would be difficult to get help quickly.”

Thalia pouted, looking torn. “But I really want to do well and get a good grade…”

I didn’t waste another second thinking. I reached out and took her hand firmly in mine. “Then I’ll stay with you. If you’re going to be here, I’m staying too. But we’ll work at the tables near the entrance, not anywhere close to that back storage room.”

Finally, she relented. At 8 PM, exactly as I remembered, a loud boom echoed through the building — like the sound of fireworks exploding. Flames burst out from the storage room door, lighting up the darkness, and fire alarms began blaring loudly as students scrambled to run outside in panic.

Thalia’s face turned as white as a sheet, and she clung tightly to my arm, trembling all over. “If I had been in there just now…” She couldn’t even finish her sentence before tears began streaming down her cheeks.

Raven quickly grabbed a fire extinguisher, but the security guards had already arrived, and the fire brigade turned up just ten minutes later. The main studio was saved, but the storage room was left completely charred and destroyed.

Later that night, outside the college building, Thalia held me in a long, tight embrace. Her hair smelled like apple-scented shampoo, a familiar scent that brought back a flood of memories. “How did you know? Why did you try so hard to stop me from going there?” she asked softly.

I couldn’t tell her the truth, of course. I simply patted her back gently. “It was just a gut feeling. I had a terrible dream, and I was so worried something bad might happen.”

Raven stood nearby, and when he noticed me shivering in the cold night air, he walked over and draped his jacket over my shoulders. “Lucky for us, your intuition was spot on. If things had gone differently, I would have lost two of my favorite fellow artists and friends forever.”

From that day onward, everything began to change. Thalia started appreciating every moment we spent together and encouraged both Raven and me to take part in charity art exhibitions. My drawings, which in my past life had only ever been seen by me alone, now began to attract attention and admiration from others.

One evening after class, I found Raven waiting for me by my locker. In his hands, he held a sketchbook, and as he opened it, I saw a beautiful drawing of me — wearing my long headscarf, a pencil tucked behind my ear, completely focused and immersed in my work. Beneath the sketch, he had written: The Studio’s Guardian Angel. Tough on the outside, but kind at heart.

“Why did you draw me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Raven leaned casually against the lockers, and that charming smile of his made my heart race and my stomach flutter. “Because you saved my best friend’s life that day. And… in a way, you saved me too. If I had lost Thalia, I think I would have given up art and never set foot in this studio again. She was the one who convinced me to join this class in the first place.”

I looked down, nervously playing with the edge of my headscarf. “I didn’t really do anything special.”

“You did more than you know,” he interrupted gently. “You see people, truly see them, even when no one else bothers to look. Even when you feel invisible.” He reached out and carefully tucked a brand-new 4B pencil beside my old one, right at the edge of my headscarf. “For your next masterpiece. This time, why don’t you draw the three of us together? Would that be alright?”

I looked up at him, and he had to bend down slightly — being so tall — just to meet my gaze. In my previous life, I could only ever draw him from a distance, hiding in the shadows. But here, in this second chance, he was standing right beside me, giving me a new pencil, and asking me to capture our bond on paper.

“I’d love to,” I replied, smiling. “But you and Thalia have to be my models, free of charge!”

He laughed, his dimples deepening, and nodded happily. “Deal.”

Suddenly, we heard hurried footsteps and loud shouting from the end of the corridor. “Hey! Don’t leave me behind again! Where are we going, and are we stopping at the café?” Thalia called out as she ran toward us.

Raven and I exchanged a glance before bursting into laughter. This second life wasn’t perfect — I was still 80 kilograms, I still struggled with my appearance, and I still sometimes felt insecure and unworthy. But now, I had my pencils, I had two wonderful friends who truly saw me, and I had a future that I was determined to shape with my own hands.

This time, I swore to myself, I would never let a single moment go to waste.

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