The dark-haired man reread the words on the worn and tattered notebook paper written in pencil that was barely legible anymore. The name on the corner of the paper had disappeared into oblivion long ago. Sighing as he drank in the sight of the girlish handwriting and burning innocence of it all, he leaned back in his chair and smiled. The essay made him feel good about himself, feel like he was doing his job a teacher not only correctly but also well. Grinning suddenly, he thought about his life, his wants, his future career. It was a bright and glittering path that lay before him. Just as suddenly that spark of inspiration faded, and he thought about the person who had written the essay. He wondered where she would be in ten years.

Thoughtfully, he stuck the shabby piece of paper in the bottom drawer of his desk. It was the spot where he kept mementos of students whose work had particularly struck a chord in him. There was a rather good research paper from a student now working as a historian at the Carnegie Museum in Pittsburgh. There was a college admissions essay he had helped another student write; he was now studying at Stanford in California. There were typed and written papers, creative pieces, and even some poetry stuck inside the drawer. They had been authored by students who had gone on to have beautifully bright and productive lives around the country.

But as he closed the drawer he couldn't help thinking about this one student, the one who had written this particular essay. It was the first thing he had saved when he began acquiring papers and letters and essays. It was from his first year teaching at Rosewood High. She was the only student whose future-present-he didn't know. There was an aura of mystery around the dark-haired, dark-eyed girl he remembered only a of glimmer of in his mind's eye.

Afraid of losing himself in thoughts about the past, the man shook his head and turned his attention to the freshly-printed pages on his desk, new papers that needed to be graded. He picked one up and began reading. Then he lost himself in his work, in the moment, as he began marking the black and white pages with his read pen and dismissed the dark-haired, dark-eyed girl and her hauntingly beautiful words.