The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 137

Once she decided what to do, it was as if fresh, living water had been injected straight into Annelise's veins, radiating a quiet, tenacious vitality from the inside out.

First thing the next morning, she contacted Alyssa to ask about taking Norwegian classes in Oslo.

Alyssa, as efficient as always, quickly enrolled her in an intensive Norwegian course at the language center affiliated with the University of Oslo.

Classes were three times a week, two hours per session.

On the first day of class, Annelise arrived half an hour early.

It was a standard lecture hall, with the Norwegian alphabet and simple greetings taped to the walls.

Her classmates were from all over the globe, making the room look like a miniature United Nations.

There was a shy-eyed Syrian woman in a hijab, who Alyssa later mentioned used to be a nurse at a hospital in Aleppo.

There was a tall, dark-skinned Eritrean man, reportedly a moderately well-known engineer back home.

There was also an overly enthusiastic older Brazilian man who constantly greeted everyone around him, his dream being to open an authentic Brazilian steakhouse in Oslo.

Annelise sat quietly in the back corner of the room, blending into this unfamiliar ocean as silently as a drop of water.

She pulled out a brand-new notebook and meticulously wrote down every word and pronunciation the teacher presented.

Norwegian pronunciation was highly unique, filled with rolled r's and guttural sounds—a massive challenge for someone accustomed to standard English or Asian phonetics.

The teacher modeled from the front: "Jeg heter Annelise" (My name is Annelise).

She whispered it to herself over and over: one time, two times, ten times.

She practiced until her tongue ached and her lips grew dry.

But she didn't quit.

She knew that language was her master key to integrating into this country and unlocking her new life.

Their Norwegian instructor was a woman named Marta.

She was in her fifties, radiating a deeply kind and approachable energy.

She had beautiful, shoulder-length silver hair, and when she smiled, lovely, gentle crinkles formed at the corners of her eyes.

She spoke very slowly, endlessly patient as she corrected the students' wild arrays of mispronunciations.

Annelise was the quietest, but also the most diligent student in the class.

She was always the first to arrive and the last to leave.

During breaks, the other students would huddle together, chatting in a messy blend of broken Norwegian and English, sharing lunches and life stories.

She was the only one who sat in the corner by herself, quietly re-listening to the recordings of the previous lesson.

Marta quickly noticed the unique Asian woman.

She was far too quiet—as silent as an oil painting with the volume turned all the way down.

She carried an aura of profound stillness and detachment that felt completely mismatched with her age.

After class finished that afternoon, the students slowly trickled out of the room.

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