Julian stands frozen in the middle of the street, his eyes locked on her retreating figure. Grace's silhouette grows smaller with each step she takes, swallowed gradually by the rhythm of passing students and the late afternoon light. He doesn't move. He just watches—as if trying to hold on to something that's already slipping away.
Meanwhile, Grace comes to an abrupt halt.
She's reached a map kiosk on the side of the campus street. Its glass screen reflects the dappled light through swaying trees, and she steps closer, brushing her hair behind her ear as she scans the layout.
"Okay… I'm here," she mutters under her breath, her finger tracing a faint blue dot. "And the Faculty of Arts and Design is…"
Her fingertip glides along the path until it lands on the elegant sketch of a building. "There. Two blocks straight ahead."
She lifts her gaze from the map and exhales, then starts walking again with renewed focus. But even as her steps carry her forward, her mind circles back to him.
"Why was he looking so… confused?" she whispers to herself, brows furrowing slightly as she passes rows of sycamore trees and flower beds humming with bees.
Something tugs inside her chest—a tight, unshakable twinge she can't name. A strange pressure builds in the center of her ribs, blooming slowly outward. Still, she steadies her expression, presses her lips together, and keeps walking as if nothing's wrong.
Then—there it is.
The Faculty of Arts and Design building rises before her like a monument. Grand columns stretch up toward the sky, framing the entrance with elegant stonework and glass that catches the light like crystal.
Grace stops in her tracks, momentarily caught off guard. Awe flickers in her eyes.
"So they did go all out," she murmurs, almost to herself. "Guess it makes sense… arts and design."
She steps inside.
The lobby greets her with soft lighting and clean architectural lines. Polished floors gleam beneath her feet, and hanging sculptures float above like clouds made of wire and paper.
At the center of the lobby sits an information desk, sleek and minimal. Behind it, a young man taps away on a keyboard, his head lifting just as Grace approaches.
"Excuse me," Grace says, her voice steady but polite as she approaches the information desk. "May I ask where Professor Julian Lenter's office is?"
The young man looks up, nodding with a quick, professional smile.
"Sure. Just a moment," he replies, his fingers tapping across the keyboard. His eyes scan the screen swiftly. "He's on the fifth floor. Take the elevator up, turn right when you get off, then walk straight down the hall. You'll find his office at the end."
Grace offers a small nod of thanks, her eyes lingering briefly on the polished desk before she responds, "Thank you."
Before she can turn away, the man adds gently, "Oh, by the way, did you make an appointment with him?"
Grace's voice catches slightly, hesitation creeping in. "Umm… no, I didn't."
The man's smile softens, understanding rather than judgment in his tone. "I see. Usually, it's better to make an appointment beforehand. But it's alright. Sometimes plans change."
Grace nods again, appreciation mingling with a flicker of unease. She steps back, making her way toward the elevator.
The elevator shaft looms tall and gleaming. She presses the button and leans against the cool wall, her mind already drifting.
Should I have made an appointment? The question echoes quietly, weaving through her thoughts like a restless shadow. Is it rude to just show up?
A soft ding breaks her reverie as the elevator doors slide open. She steps inside, the space feeling small and clinical, the hum of cables rising like a quiet breath.
When the elevator dings again on the fifth floor, she steps out into a quiet corridor bathed in soft fluorescent light. Turning right as instructed, Grace's footsteps echo gently on the polished floor as she walks straight ahead.
At the end of the hall, a door with a brass nameplate catches her eye.
Beneath the name, a smaller plaque reads
A quiet sigh escapes her lips, the air seeming to hold a subtle weight.
"So he's not here," she murmurs, a mix of disappointment and uncertainty settling over her.
Grace turns back and walks slowly down the long, quiet hallway. Her steps are soft but deliberate, her shoulders slightly slumped, carrying an unmistakable air of disappointment. As she moves, her eyes meet Professor Lena's—sharp, curious, and suddenly wide with surprise.
Lena blinks, the sight catching her off guard.
I heard she was in a coma… So she actually woke up?
The thought races through Lena's mind as she watches Grace's figure continue forward, then press the button for the elevator. The doors slide open, swallowing Grace's silhouette before closing with a soft ding.
"So she woke up…" Lena murmurs to herself, awe lacing her quiet words, the weight of that simple truth settling over her like a gentle breeze.
Meanwhile, across the sprawling campus, Julian stands rooted in place, his mind spinning from what just happened moments ago.
Grace looks at me like I'm a stranger, he thinks, the unfamiliarity stabbing at his chest with each heartbeat.
Her voice still echoes inside him—clear, soft, yet charged with something he can't quite grasp.
"Excuse me?"
Julian glances down at his Apple Watch, the cool metal grounding him back to reality. He was on his way to the lecture, after all. Slowly, he begins to walk again, his footsteps crunching on the frosty ground beneath a winter-gray sky.
His heart pounds relentlessly, caught between disbelief and a flicker of hope.
Is she really here? Or is this some kind of joke?
A small, bitter laugh escapes his lips, fragile and fleeting. But the laughter fades almost as soon as it comes, swallowed by the cold air.
He wants to tell himself it's just a prank—Grace playing coy, teasing him like before—but deep down, he knows the truth. The genuine tone in her voice, the earnest look in her eyes when she said, "Excuse me," was impossible to fake.
The lecture hall buzzes softly with anticipation as Julian steps up to the podium. His voice carries clearly through the room, steady and purposeful.
"So, for the upcoming assignment, I want you all to briefly review the overview of the history of fashion, and then…"
His words flow smoothly, each sentence landing with measured clarity. The students lean forward, eyes fixed, hanging on every detail. Their notebooks scratch quietly as they jot down notes, the room alive with focused energy.
Minutes slip by, the lecture winding down until finally, the last slide fades away. Almost immediately, without waiting for the students to file out, Julian hastily closes his laptop and shoves it into his bag. His movements are brisk, almost hurried.
He slips out into the hallway, footsteps echoing sharply against the polished floor.
Students whisper among themselves, curiosity rippling through the crowd.
"Professor Lenter looks busy today," one murmurs.
"Yeah, he sounded... different. Like something's on his mind."
Their voices trail off as Julian disappears from sight.
Outside, the winter campus awaits — a cold breath of silence and snow. Julian quickens his pace, heading toward the spot where Grace had called out to him earlier.
The icy wind whips around him, swirling loose snowflakes into fleeting dancers against the gray sky. He pauses there, surrounded by the frozen quiet, heart still thumping with the memory of her voice — that simple, weighted phrase "Excuse me."
The cold seeps through his coat, but he barely notices.
Here, in the stark whiteness of winter, everything feels suspended — waiting.
Julian stands still, the cold seeping through his coat as he pulls out his phone with a hesitant hand. The screen lights up, sharp and bright against the dull gray of the winter afternoon. For a moment, he just stares at it, gathering the courage he needs.
His thumb swipes open the contacts, fingers trembling ever so slightly as he finds Grace's name. A deep breath, steadying himself, and then—he taps the number and presses call.
The line rings once, twice—then cuts to the cold, mechanical voice of an automated message:
"This phone number no longer exists. Please…"
The words hang in the air, unfinished and final.
Julian's grip loosens, and the phone slips slowly away from his ear, his breath caught in his chest.
So she doesn't use this number anymore… and she didn't tell me.
The weight of that reality presses down on him, heavier than the winter air around him.
He turns slowly, the world shifting as he faces the campus once again. The path ahead is clear in his mind — the administration office. If Grace has returned to campus, they will know. They must.
It stings—knowing that he has to find out about her through official channels, like some stranger. But after seeing her today, distant and unfamiliar, Julian feels a desperate need to understand. To find the truth behind that guarded look.
His footsteps quicken, echoing sharply on the frozen ground as urgency propels him forward. Each step carries the hope and ache of someone who refuses to be left in the dark.
He must know what's happened to Grace.