Just Archie. No last name, no title, no context. I liked him immediately for it.
“Gianna.” I shook his hand. His grip was warm and firm, lingering a second longer than necessary before he let go.
“So what are you saying goodbye to, Gianna?”
“A job. Seven years.” I twisted my ring. “Going back to law school. Finishing what I started.”
“NYU?”
I nodded.
“That’s good.” He watched me carefully. “Why doesn’t it feel good?”
Maybe it was because he was a stranger. Or because I was leaving tomorrow and would never see him again. The uncertainties eating me alive finally had an outlet.
“Because I’m twenty-nine and everyone else will be twenty-two. Because I dropped out once, and what if I’m not actually good enough? What if I just convinced myself I am?”
The words tumbled out before I could stop them. I braced for some meaningless encouragement about believing in myself.
Instead, he said, “You belong there more than half the people who never left.”
I laughed, sharp and disbelieving. “You don’t know that.”
“I know you spent seven years doing something hard instead of something easy.” His voice was matter-of-fact, like he was stating an obvious truth. “I know you’re going back even though you’re terrified. That’s more than most people manage their entire lives.”
Something in the way he said it made me look at him closer. This wasn’t politeness. This came from somewhere real.
“What about you?” I asked. “What are you hiding from up here?”
“Expectations. Choices that seemed right at the time but keep me awake at night.” He turned fully toward me, leaning one elbow on the railing. “The usual.”
“That’s vague.”
“That’s intentional.” His smile was quick and self-aware. “I’m better at asking questions than answering them.”
“Convenient.”
“Survival skill.”
I found myself smiling despite the weight in my chest. “Mystery man it is, then.”
“I can work with that.” He studied me for a moment, head tilted. “You want the real answer?”
“Only if you want to give it.”
He was quiet for a beat, something shifting in his expression. “I inherited something I didn’t ask for. Spent years trying to prove I deserve it, made choices I thought were right. Now I’m trying to figure out if doing good with bad power is enough, or if I’m just making myself feel better about benefiting from a broken system.”
The honesty caught me off guard. This wasn't a cocktail party confession.
“That sounds exhausting,” I said.
“It is.” His eyes stayed on mine. “But probably not as exhausting as your seven years.”
“Not a competition.”
“Good. You’d win.” He pushed off the railing, stepping slightly closer. “You want to know something?”
“What?”
