Tomorrow, I decide. Tomorrow I’ll find her and thank her properly. Tell her how her belief in my work changed everything. How she changed everything.
For now, I close my laptop and head downstairs to argue about spice levels with my roommates, carrying the warmth of her words with me.
A masterpiece that will change how people think about choice in games.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’ve created something special.
But the thing I’m most proud of? I found a way to show her that her voice mattered. That her critique made my art better.
That’s not just good game design.
That’s trust, rebuilt.
37
PIPER
My phone buzzes while I’m in line at the campus coffee cart, the Thursday morning rush making everything move at a slow pace. I almost ignore it—probably just another reminder about finals—but the sender makes me freeze.
From: Professor Long
Subject: Creative Writing Grade Update
My hands shake as I open it.
Ms. Renner,
I wanted to reach out personally to congratulate you on your remarkable improvement in Creative Writing. Your latest assignment scores, combined with your midterm performance, have brought your overall grade up to a B+.
This is exactly the kind of turnaround I hoped to see when we discussed your scholarship status earlier this semester. Your work, particularly in the areas of character development and narrative structure, has shown significant growth.
I’m pleased to confirm that your academic scholarship will remain intact for the next year. Keep up the excellent work.
Best regards,
Professor Long
I read it three times before it sinks in. B+. Scholarship intact. I did it.
“Miss? Your coffee?”
The barista is holding out my usual—black with two sugars—looking mildly annoyed. I mumble an apology and stumble away from the cart, still staring at my phone.
Six weeks ago, I was failing this class. Six weeks ago, Professor Long was warning me about losing everything. And now...
I think about Ethan, about our tutoring sessions that became so much more. The way he helped me see stories as living things instead of rigid structures. How he made me laugh while explaining three-act structures, how he praised my character work even when I doubted every word.
My phone still displays the email, proof that I’m not going to lose my scholarship, that I can stay at school, that everything isn’t falling apart.
I should text Ethan. Thank him. Tell him that none of this would have happened without?—
But we’re not talking. Haven’t been since Sunday morning when he found out about the review. Since trust became a wall between us instead of a bridge.
Still, standing here with coffee cooling in my hand and my academic future secured, all I want to do is share this with him. Tell him how his patience, and terrible plant jokes, and genuine belief in my work changed everything.
I stare at the screen until the numbers blur, then screenshot everything and send it to Riya, who responds with approximately seventeen fire emojis and the message.
Riya
