(Christian)
The moment art class ended the following day, I felt like my chest was going to cave in. All morning, I’d been holding it together, barely. The dream still haunted me, playing over and over, but what hit harder was that I didn’t hate it. I kept thinking about the way I felt—wanted, seen, like I belonged somewhere.
I stared at the number on my phone again. My thumb freezing over the call icon.
And then I did it. I called.
It rang once. Twice.
"Dr. Yates speaking."
"Hi, um... this is Christian Shepard. Eli gave me your number. He said I could call."
"Of course, Christian. I'm glad you did. Do you have time to stop by today?"
I hesitated. "I’ve got class until just after noon."
"That’s fine. Why don’t you come by after? Eli knows where my office is—he can show you."
"Oka
