The email arrived on a Tuesday morning while Adrian was eating cereal in the dining hall.
Subject: Departmental Undergraduate Research Prize - Congratulations
Adrian almost deleted it, thinking it was spam. Then he saw Professor Martinez's name in the sender field and actually read the contents.
His psychology paper—the one analyzing competition dynamics in social relationships—had won the departmental undergraduate research prize. Out of sixty-seven submissions, his had been selected for its "nuanced understanding of how rivalry can mask deeper emotional bonds and complicate interpersonal relationships."
Adrian read it three times to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.
"What's wrong?" Isabella asked, looking up from her own breakfast. "You've gone completely pale."
"I—" Adrian turned his phone to show her. "I won something."
Isabella squealed, actually squealed, drawing attention from nearby tables. "Oh my god! Adrian, that's amazing! The departmental prize? Do you know how competitive that is?"
"I honestly didn't even think they'd read my paper. I just submitted it because Professor Martinez said we should."
"This is huge. Like, really huge. It goes on your academic record, looks great for grad school applications, plus there's a monetary prize. How much?"
Adrian scrolled down. "Five hundred dollars. And they're presenting it at the department ceremony next Friday."
"We're celebrating. Tonight. Wherever you want to go." Isabella grabbed his hands across the table, beaming. "Your first big academic win. This deserves proper recognition."
The news spread quickly. Sage called from Portland, screaming congratulations so loud Adrian had to hold the phone away from his ear. His parents immediately booked a flight up for the ceremony. Elena organized a small party in their dorm common room with a homemade congratulations banner.
"See?" Sage said during their video call that evening. "You don't need to beat Dante at something to win. You can just win on your own merit, in your own lane. This is what growth looks like."
"It feels weird," Adrian admitted. "Good weird, but weird. I keep waiting for someone to tell me there was a mistake."
"There's no mistake. You're brilliant, Adrian. You just needed to stop comparing yourself to Dante long enough to see it."
The ceremony was Friday afternoon in the main auditorium. Adrian wore his best button-down shirt and the tie his dad had sent specifically for the occasion. His parents sat in the third row, his mom already tearing up. Isabella, Elena, and Maya claimed seats nearby. Sage had sent flowers that were waiting at the venue entrance.
The auditorium was half-full—various department award ceremonies happening simultaneously, students and families scattered throughout the space. Adrian sat with other award recipients on the side stage, trying not to visibly panic.
Professor Martinez gave a brief introduction about the importance of undergraduate research, then started calling names alphabetically. When she reached "Adrian Hayes," she added extra commentary.
"Mr. Hayes's paper explored competition dynamics in long-term relationships with particular insight into how rivalry can serve as emotional deflection. His analysis of case studies demonstrated remarkable psychological awareness and challenged common assumptions about competitive behavior. It's rare to see such sophisticated understanding from a first-semester freshman."
Adrian stood, walking to the podium on shaky legs. Professor Martinez handed him the certificate and an envelope with the prize check, shaking his hand warmly.
The audience applauded politely.
Adrian scanned the crowd, finding his parents first—his mom crying, his dad grinning proudly. Isabella and her friends clapping enthusiastically. Sage's flowers visible even from the stage.
Then his eyes caught on a figure sitting toward the back of the auditorium, partially hidden behind a pillar.
Dante.
Their eyes met across the crowded space. Dante had presumably been there for a different ceremony—he wasn't in the psychology program—but he was here now, watching Adrian accept his award.
And then Dante stood.
He started clapping—not mockingly, not with the competitive edge Adrian had come to expect, but genuinely. His applause was steady, deliberate, his expression something Adrian had never seen before.
Pride. Dante looked proud of him.
He nodded once, a small acknowledgment, before sitting back down.
Adrian felt something crack open in his chest. This was the first time in eighteen years that Dante had witnessed Adrian's success without competition attached, without his own loss creating the victory, without any reason to acknowledge it except genuine appreciation.
Adrian returned to his seat in a daze, barely hearing the rest of the ceremony. His brain kept replaying that moment—Dante standing, clapping, nodding. The simple gesture felt more significant than the actual award.
After the ceremony, his parents swept him into enthusiastic hugs.
"We're so proud of you, honey," his mom said, crying into his shoulder. "Your first big award!"
"It's just a departmental thing, Mom. It's not that big."
"Don't downplay it," his dad said firmly. "This is a real achievement. You worked hard, you produced quality research, you got recognized for it. That matters."
Isabella appeared beside them, fitting seamlessly into the family congratulations. "Mr. and Mrs. Hayes, it's so nice to meet you in person finally. Adrian has told me so much about you."
They chatted easily, Isabella charming his parents with stories about Adrian's dedication to his studies, his kindness to classmates, his growth over the semester. She played the perfect girlfriend role, and Adrian's parents clearly adored her.
"We should let you kids celebrate," his mom said eventually. "We have an early flight tomorrow anyway. Adrian, we'll call you this weekend?"
"Yeah, of course. Thanks for coming up."
More hugs, more congratulations, then his parents left and Adrian was alone with Isabella.
"So," she said, linking her arm through his. "I made reservations at Riverside. The fancy place overlooking the water. Seven PM. Sound good?"
"That's really nice of you, but you don't have to—"
"I want to. This is your night. Let me celebrate with you properly."
Riverside was everything Isabella had promised—white tablecloths, candles, a view of the river reflecting city lights, the kind of place that required reservations weeks in advance.
"How did you manage to get a table?" Adrian asked as they were seated.
"My dad knows the owner. Called in a favor." Isabella smiled across the candlelight. "Perks of having a well-connected psychiatrist father."
They ordered—steak for him, salmon for her, wine that Isabella assured him was excellent even though Adrian couldn't tell the difference between excellent wine and decent wine.
"I'm really proud of you," Isabella said once their food arrived. "Not just the award, but everything. The way you've grown this semester. You came in so focused on competition with Dante, and now you're winning things on your own merit, in your own lane. It's beautiful to watch."
"I don't know if I've grown that much."
"You have. Trust me. The Adrian I met at the activities fair was so caught up in this rivalry, he could barely see himself as separate from it. Now you're creating your own identity, your own achievements. That's huge."
Adrian cut into his steak, trying to ignore the uncomfortable truth that he still thought about Dante constantly, still tracked his movements, still felt that pull of awareness that had nothing to do with competition.
"See?" Isabella continued. "You don't need to compete with him to be extraordinary. You're amazing on your own. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."
"How do you see me?"
"Smart, funny, kind, talented. Someone who's going to do amazing things once he stops holding himself back." She reached across the table, taking his hand. "I really like you, Adrian. A lot. More than I probably should after just a few weeks."
Adrian's chest tightened. This was the moment. Isabella was being open, vulnerable, laying her feelings out clearly. The right response was obvious.
"I really like you too," he said, squeezing her hand.
It was true. He did like Isabella. She was brilliant and kind and everything anyone could want in a partner.
The problem was, liking someone wasn't the same as being in love with them.
After dinner, they walked along the river path, Isabella's hand in his, city lights reflecting off the water in shimmering patterns.
"Can I ask you something?" Isabella said suddenly.
"Of course."
"Where do you see this going? Us, I mean. We've been doing this dance for weeks now, and I just—I want to know if we're on the same page."
Adrian stopped walking, turning to face her. She looked beautiful in the reflected light, hopeful and nervous and genuinely invested in his answer.
He made a decision.
"I want to be with you," he said, and meant it as much as he was capable of meaning it. "Officially. No more 'figuring things out' or 'taking breaks.' I want to really commit to this, to us."
Isabella's face lit up. "Really?"
"Really. You've been patient with me while I worked through stuff, and you deserve someone who's all-in. I want to be that person."
She kissed him, soft and sweet, tasting like wine and possibility. Adrian kissed back, trying to feel the spark he was supposed to feel, the all-consuming passion that books and movies promised.
It was nice. Pleasant. Perfectly adequate.
Just not... everything.
"I'm really happy," Isabella murmured against his lips. "I know it's fast, but I think this could be really good. We could be really good."
"Yeah. We could be."
They walked back to campus hand-in-hand, officially together now, crossing a threshold Adrian had been avoiding for weeks.
He should have felt triumphant. Should have felt like he'd finally moved forward, finally committed to something healthy and uncomplicated.
Instead, he felt hollow.
Isabella kissed him goodnight outside her dorm building. "I'm so proud of you. You're going to do amazing things."
"Thanks. That means a lot."
"I'll text you tomorrow? Maybe we can have brunch and figure out what we're doing for the weekend?"
"Sounds perfect."
He watched her disappear into her building, waving once more from the lobby before heading upstairs.
Adrian walked back to his own dorm slowly, the award certificate folded in his pocket, his girlfriend's kiss still warm on his lips, feeling like he'd won something and lost something in the same breath.
When he opened the door to Room 447B, he found Dante packing a weekend bag.
"Going somewhere?" Adrian asked, setting down his stuff.
Dante didn't look up from folding clothes. "Marcus invited me to spend the weekend at his apartment. Off-campus place he shares with two other seniors. I'll be gone until Monday."
Something in Dante's tone was off—too casual, too deliberate, like he was testing something.
"Oh. That's cool. Have fun."
"Yeah. Should be good. Movie marathon, maybe go out Saturday night, just hang out." Dante zipped up the bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He paused at the door, finally meeting Adrian's eyes. "Congratulations. On the award. You deserved it."
The words were simple, sincere, and they made Adrian's chest ache.
"Thanks. That—it means a lot coming from you."
"I mean it. Your paper was really good. I read it when you left your laptop open." Dante's expression was unreadable. "You have real insight into how people lie to themselves about what they're feeling."
The comment landed like a punch, clearly deliberate.
"Dante—"
"I should go. Marcus is waiting." Dante opened the door, then paused one more time. "Have a good weekend, Adrian. Enjoy your victory."
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving Adrian alone in the suddenly too-quiet room.
Adrian sat on his bed, the weight of the day pressing down on him. His first major academic win, something Dante hadn't been part of, hadn't overshadowed. Official boyfriend status with Isabella, commitment to moving forward. Everything he'd said he wanted in his "Year of Winning" manifesto.
So why did it all feel hollow?
His phone buzzed.
Isabella: I'm so proud of you. You're going to do amazing things.
Adrian typed back: Thanks.
Then he stared at his phone, finger hovering over Dante's contact.
The text thread was mostly logistics—bathroom schedules, AC repair updates, brief questions about misplaced items. Nothing personal. Nothing real.
Adrian's finger hovered over the call button.
He could call. Could say—what? Congratulations on going to Marcus's place? Don't do anything I wouldn't do? Come back?
He wanted to ask: Why are you going to Marcus's? Are you trying to make me jealous? Does it mean something that you're deliberately telling me you'll be gone all weekend?
He wanted to say: I won an award and all I could think about was whether you were proud of me. I officially committed to Isabella and all I feel is empty. I'm sitting in our room and it feels wrong without you here.
Instead, he locked his phone and set it face-down on his nightstand.
The room was too quiet. Dante's side looked abandoned—bed made perfectly, desk organized, no evidence he'd be back soon. Adrian had the whole weekend to enjoy his victory, to cement his relationship with Isabella, to move forward with his life.
He lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, award certificate crumpling slightly in his pocket.
His first real victory, achieved entirely on his own merit, without Dante's involvement.
And somehow, without Dante there to witness it, to compete with it, to acknowledge it with that complicated expression that said more than words ever could—it didn't feel like winning at all.
It just felt like losing something he couldn't name.