Tiana carried her truth quietly.
No one knew she had gained admission.
No one knew she had chosen a path she once promised would belong to him.
Back when love was real—when she believed in forever—she had sworn she would attend the same university as Joshua. She said their love would grow stronger there, that distance would never weaken them.
She believed that then.
Now, love felt like a wound she was learning to walk with.
The admission letter arrived without ceremony. She read it alone, heart pounding, hands shaking—not with fear, but relief. It felt like proof that her life had not ended where Joshua's love failed.
Still, she told no one.
Not her friends.
Not her family.
Not even Stephen.
She needed this victory to belong to her alone.
In the barracks, laughter followed her like shadows. People talked. They always had. She was discussed, speculated about, reduced to stories she never told herself.
Some laughed at her loyalty.
Some pitied her patience.
Some mocked her silence.
Tiana let them.
She had learned that explanations wasted energy better spent on escape.
Joshua remained unaware—lost in another love, another world. He still believed she would come running when called. He did not sense the ending because he had never been present enough to feel beginnings.
What he mistook for patience was detachment.
What he called love was possession.
And what Tiana had mistaken for devotion had nearly cost her future.
At night, she held her admission letter close. Not with pride, but gratitude. Gratitude that life had continued despite heartbreak. Gratitude that pain had not stolen her dreams.
She was still here.
Still becoming.
Still choosing herself—even if quietly.
One day, she would leave the barracks.
Leave the whispers.
Leave the boy who never loved her.
But for now, she stayed silent.
Not because she was weak.
But because she was preparing.
And preparation, she learned, often looks like patience to those who don't understand growth.