Southampton pier, clear morning. An excitable crowd gathered to see history unfold, in the form of a liner leaving the dock for the first time.
The best, biggest, most beautiful ship in the history of humanity.
A technical marvel, in and out, a giant whose end just merged with the sky.
The stairs of the ship were full of people moving towards their compartments.
Third class passengers, walking towards the belly of the ship.
Second class passengers, walking through the aisles and promenades.
First class...
Yes, the first class passengers are always the focus of all stories in these luxury liners, are they?
Well, this time let us pretend we are peeking at birds eye, like a seagull would, and try to make a roll call of all the areas, by looking at the different people in this liner's maiden voyage.
Echoing through the corridors, the hurried steps of a young man, his luggage pulling his slender frame to a slouched position while he wheezes, makes the boarding just in time. trying to find the location of his suite. A second class passenger ticket in his hand, sweaty and trembling with the effort, managing to steady his legs enough to pull himself forth.
Eleven thirty. He had narrowly made it in the last call! A striped two-piece suit and a black ivy cap atop his eyes, he looked lost in the deck of that whale of a ship. He was one of the last passengers of his class to come in, and frankly, a lot could be blamed on his heavy, delicate luggage and frail constitution.
He felt observed, and sure enough, he heard an exchange of voices above his head. One sounded commanding and rather bellowy, the other childish, slightly mocking.
Then, silence.
Breathing hard, he decided to give another try at moving that mammoth of a bag, trying to ignore the bellowy voice that was calling down to someone on his own deck...
"Of course, can do!"
Next he knew, a huge shadow lurched towards him. The young man gave a startled cry of surprise and fell back on the deck.
"Oh, sorry! Was asked to... help with the luggage..." A gentle voice, coming from a six foot plus man, addressed him with the utmost politeness.
"Oh... ahhh... I... well... I think I can... by mysel-"
"No worries, this is easy for...!"
But the young man does not hear the end of the phrase. His attention flew off to the upper deck, above the sternmost chimney, in the space that separates the suits. All he can see is a fleeting grin and a wave, no, not exactly... was that a thumbs-up?
The enchantment of the moment was broken by an impatient scoff.
"Move aside, youre blocking the way" a female cold voice chimed in, her own luggage firmly gripped in her hand.
"Ah, yes, sure... my apologies", the ivy cap young male mused, stepping aside to free the hallway for the young, irritable woman.
"Your cabinet?" The gentle male voice spoke again, and he felt relief listening to it.
"Yes, its this. Oh, thank you... do I owe you something?"
"Nothing! Its a pleasure for Gonta to assist a fellow gentleman!"
"I'm... Shuichi Saihara. At least... I want to invite you a mug of chocolate later for your troubles..."
"Ah yes! Sure! Gonta Gokuhara looks forward to sharing chocolate with you, Saihara-san!"
After a series of mutually reassuring comments and thanks, Shuichi was finally able to close the door, open his luggage and take out an ink bottle with a quill. His journal open on his knees, he paused to decide what to write in the blank page in front of him, as the sirens of the ship alerted that the voyage was about to begin.
Finally, inspiration came and he scribbled with neat, precise strokes, a single phrase:
April 10, 1912. This is going to be an eventful journey for sure.