Emma:
The meeting with Dr. Reynolds was anticlimactic in the way that real turning points often are.
No raised voices. No accusations. Just a conversation full of careful language and implied lines. Questions about my return. About my focus. About my plans. Wright’s name was never spoken aloud, but present in the pauses between sentences, in the way Dr. Reynolds folded her hands and waited.
I answered honestly. Calmly. Without apology.
When it was over, she smiled and told me she was glad to see me back on campus.
I walked out lighter than I’d gone in.
Wright was waiting across the quad, leaning against the low stone wall near the bike racks. He didn’t approach. Didn’t wave. Just watched until I looked up.
When I did, he nodded once.
Later, in his apartment—because it had slowly be
