I read it once, twice, a third time, each word sinking deeper into me like light flooding a room long kept in darkness. My fingers trembled. The phone slipped from my grip, landing on the couch beside me. I stared blankly ahead, and then the tears came, hot, uncontrollable, and silent at first until they weren’t.

The sobs tore out of me without warning, raw and shaking as I buried my face in my hands. For the first time in so long, I wasn’t crying from pain or fear, but from joy, unfiltered, wild, overwhelming joy.

“Vida? What happened?” she breathed, rushing toward me.

“Talk to me, are you okay?” Melanie asked me.

I couldn’t speak, could only nod through the tears, fumbling for the phone with trembling fingers and showing her the message.

Her eyes scanned the screen, and her jaw dropped. For a second, she was completely still. Then her face exploded with excitement and she let out the loudest shriek I’d ever heard, throwing herself onto the couch and wrapping me in a hug so fierce I nearly lost my breath again.

“Oh my God! Vida, you genius!” she shouted, rocking me back and forth.

“You did it. I knew you would. You freaking did it!”

I laughed through the tears, the sound strange in my throat after so much silence. “I…I thought it was a mistake at first,” I whispered. “That maybe they sent it to the wrong person.”

Melanie pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes fierce with pride. “Don’t you ever say that again. You earned this with every drop of sweat, every late night, every time you skipped meals just to study or save. You are the smartest, most resilient woman I know and I will fight anyone who says otherwise.”

I blinked at her, dazed. “It feels like I’m dreaming.”

She sat back, wiping my tears with the edge of her sleeve. “It’s real, Vida. You’re going to Dravik University.”

The name alone made my chest tighten in a different way, and before I could stop her, Melanie’s knowing smile slipped across her lips.

“I mean… this is huge,” she said, grinning now as she tossed the dishtowel over her shoulder.

“For your future. Your career. Your independence.” Then she paused, eyes twinkling mischievously. “And for your love life.”

I groaned, burying my face in a pillow. “Melanie…”

“Oh, come on,” she said, nudging me.

“You can’t tell me this whole Dravik obsession has nothing to do with a certain cold-hearted, stupidly hot hockey star heir we’ve watched on TV since high school.”

My cheeks warmed instantly, and I swatted her playfully. “He doesn’t even know I exist. He probably never will.”

“Exactly,” she replied, smug.

“And that’s why you need to be verycareful. Khaelon Dravik isn’t just rich, he’s untouchable. He doesn’t talk to anyone, barely even blinks at women. I heard he once ignored a professor mid-sentence and walked out just because he was done listening.”

I gave her a look, though I couldn’t help the way my heart twisted at the mention of his name.

“Melanie, I’m not going there for Khaelon. I’m going because it’s my shot at a real future. Seeing him from a distance… it’s enough. I won’t let a crush distract me from everything I’ve worked for.”

She studied me a moment longer, then softened. “You’re right. And I know you mean it. Just promise me you’ll keep your guard up. That school isn’t built for girls like us, it’s built for legacies, trust funds, and last name.”

“I know,” I murmured. “But I’ll survive. Like I always do.”

And she smiled, wide and proud. “Damn right you will.”

The week passed in a whirlwind of thrift-store shopping for school supplies, ironing my donated uniform until the creases were sharp, and rereading every orientation guide I could find online. I memorized maps, practiced walking with confidence in front of the mirror, and tried not to think about what might be waiting behind those gates.

But when Monday morning arrived, and I stood in front of Dravik University’s grand stone archway, all that preparation melted into nothing. The building loomed like something out of a dream or maybe a nightmare with its sprawling ivy-covered walls and towering black gates. Students bustled past, sleek and polished in their designer clothes, laughing easily with their friends, phones in hand and iced coffees in the other.

I kept my head down, clutching my schedule like a lifeline and tucking my ID badge into the inside of my coat pocket, afraid someone might snatch it away and tell me it was all a mistake.

The moment I stepped into my first lecture hall, the stares began.

I tried to tell myself I was imagining it but the way their eyes swept over my thrifted blazer, my scuffed shoes, and the backpack with a stitched-on patch from a public library knew I wasn’t. They didn’t have to say a word. Their silence was laced with judgment.

And when the whispers came, they weren’t subtle.

“She’s on scholarship, right?” the first girl asked.

“Can’t believe they let her in. I heard she was living in a small apartment.”the second one answered.

“She probably used some sob story on the application board.”she added.

My throat tightened. I focused on my notes, on the professor’s voice, on anything but the heat rising behind my eyes.

By lunch, the cruelty had sharpened into something more direct.

As I entered the cafeteria, I felt the weight of dozens of eyes flick toward me, then away, as if even acknowledging me too long would be contagious. I kept moving, searching for an empty table in the far corner when a girl with perfectly curled blonde hair and blood-red lipstick walked by, wrinkling her nose.

“God,” she muttered to the girl beside her, not bothering to lower her voice.

“What is that smell? Garbage? Poor Garbage” Laughter followed them.

I sat down at the corner table, barely able to touch my tray. My appetite had disappeared somewhere between the whispered insults and the fake sympathy in their eyes.

Just when I thought it couldn’t feel worse, the cafeteria doors creaked open and the room fell silent. When I turned around my heart beat faster than normal when I saw Khaelon Dravik.