Hannah. (Van Den Bosch #7)

Chapter 2

2

Hannah

It’s impossible to pinpoint one single emotion I’m feeling as we drive through the countryside of England on our way to the old college town of Cambridge for Freshers’ Week. In the front seats, my parents haven’t said a single word for the past hour, but I can feel the excitement in the air along with my dad’s sharp focus as he keeps his grip tight on the steering wheel, making sure not to forget he’s got to drive on the “wrong side” of the road. I can’t help but chuckle at the serious look on his face, though.

Cambridge. I can’t believe I finally made it.

Mom and Dad aren’t going to say it, but I know that they’re also feeling a little torn up inside. I think all parents do on days like this.

As the miles pass, the landscape changes, from green lands to the enchanting sight of an old town.

Mom twists around in her seat and grins at me. Her eyes are shining, but they aren’t filled with tears. She’s keeping it together. I mean, it’s not like they’ll be left alone once back home. They still have three kids there to keep them busy. After a long pause where she stares at me, Mom finally says, “Well, here we are.”

I smile back at her and act like I’m not excitedly shaking. It doesn’t work. I’m a little nervous, too. Cambridge looks like the old academic world that I always expected it to be, with its red brick buildings and its Gothic architecture. There’s a quaint, historic feel to the place.

Exiting the car, I find myself standing on the hallowed grounds of the university, my eyes wide with awe. Towering spires reach for the sky; their ancient stones have stood for centuries, watching generations of students come and go. Ivy-clad buildings line the streets, and leaves fall from trees in the fall air and spiral down to dot the sidewalks.

Walking down the cobblestone pathways, past the immaculate landscaping, and under the ancient trees, I feel a sense of belonging. This is my new home. Done are my days of the boring high school courses and droning teachers trying to get me interested in things that have no meaning to me. Now, I can finally start classes that cover what I care about—Art History.

We stop briefly at the administration office, and I let my parents handle the paperwork while my mind is busy in a million different places. This is what I’ve been waiting for, and this is the start of something new. It’s the start of my future, and it’s going to be a good one.

“Are you excited?”

Mom’s words bring me back to the present. They’ve rejoined me, and now it’s time to head to the dormitory to unpack.

I nod, my throat tight with emotion. “Yeah, it feels kinda surreal.”

Dad places a reassuring hand on my shoulder, grounding me in this moment. “You’re going to be the first member of the family studying in a British college. Surreal, indeed.”

I nod again, not knowing what to tell him. It’s true that everyone in the family studied either at the University of Amsterdam or somewhere else close by; for some reason, studying abroad never really occurred to them.

As a History of Art fresher, I’ll be staying in the Corpus Christi college dormitories, close to the center of campus. As we get on walking, I reflect on all that has brought me here. The years of hard work, the hours spent studying, and the incredible support from Oma—it all comes down to this moment. Looking up, the architecture around me blends Gothic splendor and timeless elegance. Leaded windows offer glimpses into libraries where stacks upon stacks of books reside. There are no classes this week, just social activities, so the streets and sidewalks are bustling with students and parents.

We reach my dorm building, and sunlight spills through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the common room. A crackling energy is in the air as new students mingle with upperclassmen, and droves of emotional parents drop their children off. It’s so crowded that I can't tell much about the common room, but I’m sure there will be time for that later. I don’t know how much time I will spend socializing, but I’m determined to get a real college experience. Unlike Elise and Andries in their expensive, ridiculous apartments, attending class before going back and lounging like royalty. No. That’s not for me.

For now, it's time to get settled into my new home. Mom, her eyes still shimmering with emotion, reaches for the handle, and the door swings open, revealing a space bathed in late morning light. I told my parents, over and over again, that I wanted the same college experience as anyone else, which they didn’t love. But this is my first foray into adulthood, and I want it to be right. No special privileges because of our family's wealth and prestige. I’ve felt like I won that argument, but when we step into the single dorm room with an attached private bathroom, I grow suspicious that Mom and Dad might have made some calls before we arrived. I turn to look at my parents, but neither of them meet my eyes. I’m not surprised, really.

“Guys, it's a great room, but I said no special treatment.”

My mother clears her throat. “This is standard, Hannah. The college has plenty of private dorms.”

I don't believe that for a second, but I decide not to argue. It’s a small thing, and the room is amazing. Plus, I can’t say I’m upset about having my own bathroom. Sharing one was something I wasn’t looking forward to.

“Alright, thanks.”

Okay, so...this is really it. This is my new home. The room isn't just a space; it's a canvas where my dreams will take shape, where I'll study and sleep and live my entire new life. It’s a modest size, simple and comfortable. My bed, neatly made with the standard white sheets the college provides, is smaller than my one at home but perfectly adequate. The shelves, waiting to be adorned with books, excite the reader in me. I didn’t bring a lot of reading material with me, but if all the libraries I’ve seen are any indication, I’ll have plenty to borrow and peruse as the quarter goes by. The bathroom is small and simple, but having it to myself really will be a luxury.

“It’s not too late to get you an apartment,” Dad points out, observing the space with a critical eye. “Somewhere private where you aren’t living in the same hallway as fifty other kids. I could make it happen today, tomorrow at the latest–”

“Dad,” I say amid a quick chuckle. “Stop. It’s fine. This is what I want.”

He shakes his head, heaving a sigh. “So damn stubborn.”

Mom’s hand lands on my shoulder, her voice soft with maternal love. “Let's get you unpacked, darling.”

Their confidence in me fills the room as we unpack, each item finding its place. Family photos, decorations, my own bedding, and even a few favored trinkets find their new home, transforming the space into my own personal haven and making it truly mine.

When we've finished unpacking, I look around the room with a sense of satisfaction and pride. It’s not much, but it's a start.

The opening year ceremony is mandatory for students, and even if they don't have to stay, Mom and Dad insist that they wouldn't miss it for the world. I wonder if Andries and Elise got this enthusiastic of a send-off.

The venue for the ceremony, adorned with ornate carvings and stained-glass windows, is full of the chattering of other freshers. The little groups of friends give me pause—I don’t know a single person here, and I’m not the most sociable person. But I will have to make it work. If I don’t find anyone to relate to, solitude won’t be all that bad. The wooden chairs creak softly as we settle in, the whispers and private conversations dwindling as the ceremony draws near.

It’s exciting, really, seeing so many students, all with different dreams and ambitions, come together in one place. It’s a little like being part of a team, even if we haven’t been officially introduced. A hush falls over the crowd as the dean, a distinguished-looking man with graying hair and a severe expression, steps onto the stage. He introduces himself and begins his welcome speech.

His voice, commanding yet kind, fills the hall, wrapping us in the majesty and tradition of it all. “Dear students,” he begins, his gaze sweeping over each eager face, “You’re standing on the brink of something extraordinary, a journey that will mold you, challenge you, and shape you into the thinkers of tomorrow. This is the dawn of a new era for you, a chance to forge your own path and create your own destiny.”

The dean’s words fill me with anticipation. I can’t wait to start this new journey and am determined to make the most of it. As the opening ceremony winds down, I find myself feeling more optimistic than I’ve ever been. With the future laid out before me, I know that nothing can stand in my way.

The pinnacle of the ceremony arrives when the dean, his eyes sparkling with pride, exclaims, “To new bonds, enlightenment, and the pursuit of knowledge!”

A ripple of excitement passes through the audience as the cheers go up. Even I stand with Mom and Dad and cheer, although it feels silly. The ceremony concludes, and the students leave the hall, chatting and laughing. I walk beside my parents, feeling joy and determination in my heart.

After the ceremony, it's time for them to return home, leaving me alone in this foreign country. It feels daunting but also right. They hug me tightly, their warmth seeping into my skin.

“My sweet baby,” Mom whispers into my hair. “I’m going to miss you. Don’t forget to call.”

Dad’s grip on my shoulder is firm, his voice steady. “Remember, you’re destined for greatness. Seize every opportunity.”

The idea of that is a little funny. I’m an art history major, which isn’t exactly a flashy degree…but I guess there can be greatness of a sort in it.

As they walk away, their figures receding into the night, I stand there, my chest tight. I’m alone yet surrounded by all the other freshers having the same experiences. As I dash a few tears away, I find some comfort in knowing I’m not the only one out here crying.

With the day mostly done, I head back to my dorm. Lowering myself to sit on the bed, I hold my phone, unsure what to do next. I know one person who might be on campus, but I haven’t heard from him much. In fact, as we loaded up the car this morning, I sent him a single text. Guess who is starting at Cambridge today?

But Johan didn’t answer. And I don't even know why.

Over the passing years, Johan and I have shared fragments of our lives through sporadic conversations, a collection of messages, and occasional calls. But life, as it often does, has led us in different directions. Nevertheless, he’s remained a constant presence, a cherished family friend, someone I could always count on for advice or a shared laugh. Despite never seeking his help to get into Cambridge, there’s a secret hope within me, a wish to bump into him someday. Two years ago, he was here, immersed in his master’s degree, and the prospect of reconnecting is an unspoken desire of mine.

Not for him, apparently. He’s probably too busy to notice the arrival of a fresher.

So, I’m not expecting an answer when I send another message. Just in case.

Hey. It’s Hannah.

I stare at the phone screen, watching the seconds tick by, but no response. Of course. He’s a graduate, probably doing important research for his PhD.

Well, I’m here at Cambridge.

It’s silly, but I add a picture of me in the dorm room. I want him to know that I made it. That I’m actually here, just like I said I’d be. Not for any stupid reason like following him, but because I wanted it for myself.

But as the seconds become minutes, there is still no response. Maybe he doesn’t even check his texts anymore. I steal another glance at my phone, the excitement of the moment now clouded by disappointment. Maybe he’s lost in his own world , I speculate, my thumb hovering over the screen, contemplating whether to send another message.

In the quiet sanctuary of my room, I reflect on the day. The unanswered message lingers in the corners of my mind, but I consciously shift my focus to what all this really means. I made it, and classes start tomorrow.

Cambridge sprawls out like an endless canvas of opportunities, and as I shut my eyes, I imagine the countless possibilities. The anticipation of what tomorrow holds overshadows the unanswered text.

If we run into each other, it will be nice. But if not…well, I guess we aren’t as close as I thought.