ELOISE
The towering gothic arches of the Vanderbilt Music Hall felt more like a golden cage than a sanctuary.
It was only my second week of classes, and the overwhelming intensity of the music department was already suffocating. I sat on a stone bench in the courtyard, clutching my classical composition folders against my chest, my head spinning with complex music theory. But honestly? The music wasn't what was keeping my heart in a constant state of panic.
It was the silence.
For two weeks, Mike and I had been ghosts to each other on campus. I had watched him from afar—on TV screens in the student center, on sports posters plastered across the dining halls, and occasionally walking across the quad, surrounded by a heavy wall of PR handlers and flashing cameras. When our paths did
