Hole

A beautiful young girl with long black hair stepped carefully onto the sidewalk, stepping off an old intercity bus that rattled and snorted like a tired animal. The doors clanked shut behind her, and the bus, leaving behind clouds of exhaust smoke, soon disappeared into the foggy road.

Delia adjusted the strap of her battered backpack, which held only the bare essentials, and looked around. It was already dusk outside, and the flickering light from the street lamps painted the wet asphalt in golden hues. The damp air smelled like the freshness of an autumn forest, mingling with the aromas of coffee and pastries wafting from a small diner nearby.

The city was humming. It didn't seem intrusive, but rather welcoming, as if Portland itself was inviting her into its bustle. Delia listened to the sound, feeling both excitement and a little fear of the unknown.

She came here alone. For the first time in her life. Her home had always been the cozy little house in the suburbs where she lived with her mother. This home was her world - safe and unchanging. But everything changed when Delia decided to leave it and come here, to a city that seemed huge and almost endless to her.

Now the dorm awaited her-a new home, new people, a new life. She took a deep breath, feeling the cool air tickle her lungs. A whole block was before her, full of lights, sounds, and smells. Her footsteps echoed on the sidewalk as she moved forward, holding a piece of paper with the address of the dorm in her hand. She had no map or paper guide, only the directions from the bus driver.

"Go straight down the street to the intersection with the drugstore, then turn left, go two more streets, and you'll see a building with a red roof," Delia repeated to herself, trying to keep the route in her memory.

She walked past glowing shop windows, street lamps, and the occasional passerby bundled up in warm autumn clothes. A cold wind ruffled her hair, and she pulled her jacket tighter around her. Sometimes she felt like she was walking too long, but each time she turned the next corner, she found something that sounded like the driver's words.

The drugstore with the peeling sign was quickly found, and Delia turned left. The streets were quieter here, and her footsteps became louder in the silence between the rare cars. A dog barked in the distance, and warm stripes of light came through the windows of the houses.

After walking another block, she saw a small park with a low fence and rows of houses with high porches. Her heart began to beat a little faster. A little more, and she would find the building with the red roof that the driver had spoken of.

She quickened her pace, glad that her backpack, though heavy, was not so heavy that it would slow her down. The piece of paper with the address in her hand was slightly wrinkled from constant touching. She peered carefully at the houses and the numbers on the doors.

Finally, a three-story building appeared around the bend. The red tiles of the roof gleamed in the dim light of the street lamp. On the front hung a modest sign with the name of the dormitory. Delia paused for a moment, looking at the house that would become her new home.

She sighed, feeling both relieved and excited. She climbed the short steps to the front door and pulled the key that had been mailed to her earlier from her pocket. The lock clicked, the door gave way, and Delia stepped into the hallway, which greeted her with the faint smell of polished wood, mingled with the faint scent of old sheet music. The walls were covered with concert posters, many of which looked tattered, as if they had been taken from noticeboards and brought here as keepsakes.

On one of the tables against the wall lay stacks of music books and concert programs. Delia paused for a moment, examining them, until somewhere down the hall she heard the sounds of a violin, a soft, flowing melody, as if someone's soul had decided to sing through the strings.

She looked towards the sound and couldn't help but step closer. The door of one of the rooms was slightly open, and through the crack a figure of a girl with dark hair could be seen, bending over a violin. There was a case lying on the bed next to her, and a small music stand with notes stood by the window. Delia didn't interfere, but something stirred inside her - joy and nervous excitement at the same time.

She sighed and, holding her backpack tighter, moved on. To the room on the third floor that was indicated to her in the letter. When she opened the door, she was greeted by a simple but cozy interior: a narrow bed, a table, a closet and a large window overlooking the street. On the wall, to her surprise, hung a poster of a symphony orchestra, the conductor in the center was depicted in a fit of inspiration, waving his baton over the orchestra.

After unpacking her things, Delia sat down on the bed and leaned back tiredly on the pillow. The city, the new life, the music... All of this simultaneously frightened and attracted her. She came here to become a musician, to find her place among those who made music their life.

Tomorrow was an important day for her. She had to meet the bandmaster, the leader of the orchestra with whom she had corresponded before her arrival. He had to hear her play and decide what place she would take in the orchestra.

Her hand instinctively reached for the flute case that stood by the bed. Delia opened it, running her fingers over the silver metal. This instrument was her dream, and a part of her. She knew that tomorrow would be difficult, but now the melody playing in her head was full of hope.

Somewhere below, a cello began to play, soon joined by a piano. The music filled the space, as if the very atmosphere of the place was saturated with sound. Delia smiled: here she could feel part of something bigger.

Delia unpacked her things, arranging them neatly on the table and in the closet. Everything she had brought fit on one shelf. Home photos in a wooden frame, a few books, including her favorite sheet music, and a small ceramic candlestick her mother had given her before she left.