El amanecer de un hola

Previously

…He placed Bartholomew back on the windowsill, the afternoon sun glinting off its leaves. He took a deep breath, the air tinged with the faint scent of dill and resignation. The waiting game was far from over, but for the first time, Arthur Penhaligon felt a surprising sense of peace. He had written his truth, his wonderfully awkward, hilariously clumsy truth. And if that wasn't enough, then perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn't quite ready for those particular halls of academia anyway. He could always try the ukulele again.