Juni paused just inside the entrance, letting the doors slide shut behind him.
The art university was louder than he expected—not in sound, but in presence. Voices overlapped. Laughter bounced off high ceilings. People moved with an ease that suggested familiarity with both the space and themselves.
No one noticed him standing there.
He stepped forward, pulled along by the flow, heart beating a little too fast. The building opened up into a wide atrium filled with natural light and unfinished work—canvases leaning against walls, sculptures half-assembled, ideas visibly in motion.
It felt exposed.
Juni found his assigned studio after checking the map twice. Inside, students were already claiming territory—tables, corners, walls near the windows. Introductions happened quickly, confidently.
"What medium are you working in?"
"Did you come straight from foundation?"
"Who reviewed your portfolio?"
Juni chose a table near the back and unpacked slowly, aligning his pencils with deliberate care. It gave his hands something to do while his thoughts caught up.
Class began without ceremony. The instructor spoke about risk, about visibility, about learning to take up space without apology. Juni wrote the words down, even as his chest tightened.
Visibility had never been neutral for him.
During the break, he stepped outside onto a narrow terrace overlooking the courtyard. Students clustered in groups below, animated and assured. Juni leaned against the railing and pulled out his phone.
Elian: You there?
He smiled despite himself and typed back.
Juni: Yeah. It's… a lot.
Elian: The good kind or the overwhelming kind?
Juni watched someone laugh too loudly, unafraid of attention.
Juni: Still deciding.
A pause.
Elian: You don't have to belong on day one.
Juni exhaled slowly.
Juni: I know. Just feels like everyone else already decided they do.
Elian: They're just louder about it.
Juni tucked the phone away and went back inside.
As the day unfolded, he sketched constantly—faces, fragments, shadows—anything that anchored him. No one hovered. No one corrected him. The freedom felt immense and unsettling.
By late afternoon, exhaustion dulled the edge of his nerves. He packed up and headed back toward student housing, the building already feeling less foreign than it had that morning.
Juni sat on his bed and flipped through his sketches. They were rough, unfinished—but alive.
Across the city, Elian was likely still moving through spaces designed to receive him.
The imbalance wasn't new. It was just clearer now.
Juni lay back and stared at the ceiling, letting the day settle. Tonight, he would cross the city again. He would step into a space where he was known, where his name didn't need to be spoken loudly to matter.
For now, he reminded himself, staying was enough.
Belonging could come later.