A month passed.
University life settled into routine, and James learned how to move through his days quietly—lectures in the morning, tutoring sessions in the evenings, studying late into the night. He spoke little, listened more, and avoided unnecessary attention.
It was during one of those quiet afternoons that the whispers began.
James stood near the faculty notice board, carefully pinning up a fresh flyer.
He stepped back to straighten the paper when a shadow fell beside him.
"Is that yours?"
James turned to see two students from his department. They weren't friends—just familiar faces from lectures.
"Yes," he said evenly. "It's mine."
One of them raised an eyebrow. "So you're tutoring now?"
"I've been tutoring," James replied calmly.
The second student scoffed lightly. "I thought so. You're always leaving early."
James didn't react. He simply adjusted his bag strap.
"It's how I support myself," he said.
They exchanged looks—curiosity quickly turning into judgment.
"So you're broke like that?" one of them muttered, not bothering to lower his voice.
James met his gaze, unbothered. "I work. There's nothing shameful about that."
They laughed quietly and walked away
By the next day, the campus had found something new to discuss.
The whispers followed him into class.
"That's the one."
"He puts up tutoring flyers."
"Imagine being that desperate."
"No wonder he dresses like that."
James heard it all.
He did not respond.
Hope noticed immediately—the sudden stares, the murmured comments, the way Diane and her friends leaned together, smiling like they had found entertainment.
Zara clenched her jaw. "People can be ridiculous."
Even Diane, sitting several rows away, stiffened.
She disliked gossip—especially when it targeted someone she knew.
James entered the lecture hall a few minutes late, breath steady, expression composed.
The lecturer paused. "Mr. James. You are late."
"I apologize, sir," James said respectfully. "It won't happen again."
The lecturer nodded. "Take your seat."
James nodded, relieved, and hurried to an empty chair.
The lecturer closed his notebook with an audible click and surveyed the class.
"I assume," he said in a low, firm voice, "that all of you enrolled in this university to study—not to evaluate the financial status of your classmates."
Silence fell like a curtain.
"If your energy is focused on gossip, I assure you, you will fail long before the exams begin."
A few students shifted uncomfortably.
Hope allowed herself the faintest smile.
Zara whispered, "Good. They deserved that."
James sat down behind Hope, quietly opening his notes.
He didn't look up, but his lips curved in a barely noticeable smile.
Someone—maybe many someones—had stood up for him today.
He didn't know who—but he felt it.
He walked to the empty seat behind Hope.
Hope kept her eyes forward, pretending she didn't notice…
…but a faint smile appeared on her lips.
"Hope," Zara whispered, "you're smiling again."
"No, I'm not," Hope whispered back.
"Yes, you are."
Behind them, James opened his notebook quietly.
He didn't say a word—but inside, he felt a soft warmth.
Something was changing—
and this was only the beginning.