The hallway was flooded with students rushing to either their classes or to see their friends.
Luckily, no one noticed me, which wasn’t surprising because no one ever noticed me unless I was being humiliated. Then maybe some would spare a glance, but apart from that, air would always be air.
But one person did catch my eye. A girl—no, not justagirl, but one from earlier. The middle one among the three, the one to drop everything and step in for me first. She was smiling atmewhile her eyes travelled up and down my frame as if she was glad to see that I had cleaned up.
My fingers curled tighter around the strap of my bag as I turned away from her.
I can’t ignore it anymore.
I couldn’t ignore that her hair looked exactly like the one I saw earlier, the one that disappeared around the corner. The one who gave me warmth by sparing her clothes.
And it wasn’t in front of anyone, not a big deal for everyone to see, not for attention. That somehow made it worse.
Earlier… I had misread her.
Misread them.
All they were doing was offering help.
It was so foreign, so alien, that instead of accepting it, I twisted it in my head, making it into something negative. Something I could protect myself from.
Guilt hit me like a truck as I forced myself to walk away. Away from that smile, that warmth that made my chest ache.
Not now, I can’t care about that right now. I have to remember why I did everything I did, why I was willing to humiliate myself in front of everyone, why I let him win…again.
To hand in my project on time, to keep my scholarship, and not to be hopeful about something that probably didn’t mean anything more than just… me being a charity case.
—
Am I late?
My mind raced. Our work was handed in alphabetically. Campbell, C. I was always one of the first. Yet here… everyone else had started.
Panic fluttered in my chest, my throat tightening, my hands gripping my folder like it was a lifeline.
“Kyle Bates?” the professor called.
Bates…? B.
A…
B…
C…
My chest loosened slightly. I wasn’t late. Not yet.
I stepped forward, clutching my folder tightly, letting a small, shaky breath escape. Relief and adrenaline tangled in my chest, just enough to make my hands tremble.
I made it. Oh God, I really made it,I thought as I reached my seat. I allowed my shoulders to relax and my breathing to slow.
The folder felt lighter in my hands now, like the weight of the morning—of the mud, of rushing, of trying not to break—was finally settling somewhere behind me.
“Aurora Campbell.”
My name was called, and I shot out of my seat, gripping the folder tight to my chest as if it were my lifeline. Each step to thedesk echoed louder than it should have, but I forced myself to keep going.
I placed the folder down carefully, almost reverently. Professor Smith took it with steady hands, stacking it neatly on top of the others. “Thank you. I’ll look forward to reading your research, Miss Campbell.” Her voice carried no judgement, only warmth.
