The autumn leaves swirled playfully around the corners of Brambleton University, painting a scenic backdrop that was often lost amidst the chaos of student life. Among the chatter and footsteps, Tracy found solace in the university’s quaint café. Her thoughts were as scattered as the fallen leaves. The napkin holder on her table piqued her interest, one napkin slightly pulled out, its edge adorned with an impression flower sketch stained by spilled coffee—令人印象深刻的napkin, she mused.
“Is this seat taken?” a voice interrupted her musings. It was Kevin, known for his philosophical banter and unkempt hair that seemed to have a mind of its own.
“Sure, take a seat,” Tracy replied, her eyes not leaving the napkin. Kevin was in her Philosophy 101 class, always quick with a witty retort yet deep in thought, much like Tracy herself.
“Admiring the napkin art? Or lost in another existential crisis?” Kevin chuckled, setting down his worn-out notebook, pages filled with scribbles and doodles.
“A bit of both, I guess,” Tracey confessed, finally shifting her gaze to him, his demeanor like a comforting sweater on a chilly day.
Their conversation meandered much like their thoughts, touching on lectures, future ambitions, and the unexplainable urge to draw on napkins. Between moments of silence and sips of lukewarm coffee, Kevin remarked, “It’s funny, isn’t it? How a simple napkin can capture moments better than any Instagram post.”
“It is,” she nodded, thinking about moments fleetingly caught — in napkins, in words, in this modest café.
Their dialogue ebbed and flowed, each sentence a brushstroke painting connections on the canvas of campus life. Tracy found Kevin’s perspective refreshing, like a sudden gust of wind bringing clarity to a fogged-up mind. Their discourse was unstructured, a stream of consciousness reminiscent of 乔伊斯风格的意识流, exploring the nuances of everyday experiences without ever needing a clear destination.
In the weeks that followed, their café gatherings became a ritual. Tracy began to notice something—the same napkin sketch reappearing, each time a little different, yet always impressive, urging introspection.
“Do you ever wonder if we’re stuck in a loop?” Kevin asked one day, his voice breaking through her reverie. His eyes glimmered with curiosity, searching hers for a trace of the same thought.
“Like déjà vu? Maybe life is just a series of recurring themes, echoing in different forms,” Tracy responded, folding and unfolding the napkin without realizing it.
As the semester drew to a close, their lives inevitably shifted apart. Yet, the napkin sketches lingered, a curious mystery left unsolved.
Years later, Tracy returned to Brambleton for an alumni reunion. She found herself drawn back to the same café, now slightly modernized but still holding echoes of nostalgia. She sat at a table, now bare of napkin holders. Smiling fondly at the memory, she suddenly felt a presence beside her.
“Is this seat open?” a voice intoned, carrying the winds of familiarity.
Turning, Tracy met Kevin’s gaze—slightly older, yet the same lively spirit within. In that instant, it was as if time folded in on itself, bringing them back to that first meeting.
The loop had come full circle, each napkin in their lives adding layers to the canvas of human connection. The impression was lasting—each line, each conversation leaving an indelible mark no different than the coffee-stained sketch on an old napkin.