HOW I FELL FOR THE YETI
Chapter 1. On the Path to a Dream
Sophia woke up before her alarm could nudge her out of sleep. The warm rays of the first day of September gently tickled her face. Today was a big day, a special one she had been eagerly awaiting. She was a university student. No, scratch that. SHE WAS A UNIVERSITY STUDENT! With this, Sophie had taken one more step toward her dream. After graduating from college, she had aced her exams, sailed through the creative competition, and earned a spot straight into the third year of university.
Sophia had loved to draw since the day she was born. She drew always, everywhere, and with anything she could get her hands on. Well, she no longer scribbled on walls or used her mom’s makeup as paint, but everyone in the Pearl family knew they had a budding artist in their midst.
The Pearl family consisted of Sophie, her mom Isidora, and her grandmother Catherine.
The women in her life quickly noticed little Sophie’s passion for creativity and, to keep trouble at bay, enrolled the mischievous tyke in art school. It wasn’t smooth sailing at first. At four years old, the school refused to take in such a young whirlwind. But by the time Sophie turned five, they had no choice but to admit their youngest student into the first grade of art school. They saw not only her persistence but were blown away by her skill and grasp of artistic terms. Frankly, much older kids paled in comparison—they lacked her originality, development, and raw talent.
As an exception, Sophie was accepted into art school, and they never regretted it for a second. Her determination, creativity, and resourcefulness were unmatched. Her artwork won competitions, was auctioned off as prized lots, and even featured in several solo exhibitions. In short, she was a girl touched by divine inspiration.
And today, this young lady—as her grandmother liked to call her—woke up and started getting ready for university. The night before, Sophie had picked out a lovely pastel dress for her first day, which was already waiting for her on a hanger. She didn’t obsess over clothes, but she also didn’t just throw on the first thing she pulled from her closet. Comfort and ease were her style.
After a quick breakfast and a kiss goodbye to her Gran—as she affectionately called her grandmother—Sophia set off for campus. It felt like the whole world was smiling at her along the way: the sun, the passersby, and even the traffic lights seemed to flash green just for her.
Sophia Pearl was among the first to step into the spacious lecture hall. She only knew two other girls, who, like her, had decided to pursue a university degree after college. Sophia had earned a scholarship, which didn’t sit well with the others. Her ranking had bumped them down, leaving them to pay tuition out of pocket. Sophie didn’t let their sideways glances bother her. She wasn’t one to force friendships, though she was always ready to lend a hand. She knew her worth and could stand up for herself.
The first class of the day was a lecture. In the schedule, under the instructor’s name, Sophie read—Blossom, M.I.
Students trickled in for the first lecture with little enthusiasm, dragging their feet. A short, plump girl approached Sophie.
“Hey there! You must be new. I’m the class rep, Svetlana. Give me your number so I can add you to our group chat,” the girl said, diving right in.
“Hi! I’m Sophia Pearl. Here’s my number,” Sophie replied, showing it on her phone.
“Got it, I’ve added you to the group. Welcome to the family!” Svetlana smiled. “We’ve got quite the zoo here—or more like a snake pit. But don’t worry, the vipers and adders are only mildly venomous. Trust me, you’ll figure out the antidote soon enough. Just steer clear of Zlata and Matthew—they’re the top-tier reptiles. Consider yourself warned. If you’ve got questions, I’m here,” Svetlana briefed the newcomer with a knowing look.
Sophie’s phone pinged with a notification that she’d been added to a group called “Bohemia,” which listed twenty-eight members.
Ten minutes after the lecture was supposed to start, the instructor glided into the room. Margaret Blossom was an excessively thin, tall woman wearing a bright dress far too short for her age. Her voice was shrill and grated on the ears, and her monotonous delivery made Sophie want to doze off within the first fifteen minutes. She couldn’t believe how such an interesting subject could be butchered by such a dull presentation. In the back rows, a few students nodded off, and some even started to snore. When the first lecture finally (thankfully!) ended, the instructor jotted something in her notebook and scanned the students, who perked up at the sound of the break bell.
“Svetlana Bochkin,” she called out to the class rep, deliberately emphasizing her last name, “I see we have a new face. But there should be two more. Let everyone know I won’t tolerate such disrespect.” Then, lowering her voice, she added, “And where’s little Matthew?”
“I’ll pass the message along when they show up, and I’ll add everyone to the group. As for Matthew Veselsky, I haven’t the faintest idea,” Svetlana replied, then added with a smirk, “I’m not his babysitter, you know.”
The instructor’s face soured, but she didn’t comment on the jab.
The lecture hall began to fill with students greeting each other and catching up on summer stories. From outside the door, loud laughter echoed, and two guys strolled in, chuckling about “a wilted flower that hadn’t been watered and turned into a tumbleweed.”
“Oh, little Matthew, I saw your exhibition the other day,” one of the guys mocked in a exaggerated tone. “You’re so talented, so masterful… and your brush…” Their laughter roared through the room again.
Sophie didn’t care for the instructor, but she had no respect for clowns who mocked others like this. She instantly knew this must be the Matthew the class rep had warned her about. Sophie looked away from the pair of jesters, but she couldn’t help overhearing what came next.
“Matt, take a look. The goddess of love herself has graced our humble alma mater. Finally, the universe has taken pity on us and sent an angel to save us from loneliness and boredom.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie noticed the entire group was now watching the two guys, waiting to see what would happen next.
“Ma chérie, mon amour,” Matthew began, hamming it up with a dreadful attempt at a French accent.
“Ah, the infamous flower-waterer himself,” Sophie shot back in flawless French. “I’d suggest keeping your brush to yourself, lest someone, heaven forbid, splashes your palette with some vibrant colors.”
The duo across from her didn’t look so amused anymore, their eyes betraying confusion: What did she just say?
Someone in the group snickered, and others quickly crowded around for a translation.
“And what did the goddess just say?” Matthew asked, his tone sour.
“The goddess just hinted,” answered a striking, elegant girl (who Sophie later learned was Zlata), “that you should keep your brush in its cup, or you might need some serious touch-ups with Photoshop later.”
The bell rang, and everyone scrambled to their seats, though whispers and stifled giggles lingered even as the next instructor entered the room.