The advisement office didn't look threatening.
That was the problem.
Soft lighting. Neutral walls. A potted plant that looked like it had survived several administrative cycles. The kind of place designed to make difficult conversations feel routine.
XH sat across from the advisor, hands folded loosely, posture calm in appearance only.
"Thank you for coming in," the advisor said politely. "This is just a conversation."
XH nodded. He'd learned that just a conversation was usually a lie.
"You've indicated interest in an international pathway," the advisor continued. "Medical school preparation, correct?"
"Yes."
The advisor tapped something on the tablet. "Given the current review period, we advise students to reassess risk tolerance."
There it was.
Not a warning.
A nudge.
"What does reassess mean?" XH asked.
"It means considering options with guaranteed outcomes," the advisor replied smoothly. "Local government tracks. Deferred applications. Transitional degrees."
XH felt his jaw tighten. "And if I don't want those?"
The advisor smiled faintly. "Then you accept uncertainty."
Silence stretched.
XH nodded slowly. "I already do."
The advisor studied him for a moment longer than necessary.
"We'll note that," they said. "But be aware: choosing uncertainty is still a choice."
XH left the office with that sentence echoing in his head.
Kitty POV: Alone With the Question
Kitty's advisement session was shorter.
Not because it was easier.
Because she didn't ask questions.
She listened as the advisor spoke about pathways, options, timelines. About how some students "thrived" after pivoting. About how stability wasn't a betrayal of ambition.
Kitty nodded. Smiled. Thanked them.
Then she walked out and immediately felt like she might cry.
Not because she was scared.
Because for the first time, the future asked her who she wanted to be without reference to anyone else.
She walked past the courtyard without stopping, past familiar benches, past places that still held echoes of laughter. She didn't sit.
She kept walking until she reached the quieter side of campus and sat on the low steps near the fence again.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from her mother.
Mom: how's school? any updates?
Kitty stared at the message.
What could she even say?
She typed:
Kitty: things are complicated. but I'm okay.
She set the phone aside and stared at the ground.
She thought about the guy she'd been seeing.
About how safe it felt to be wanted without being known.
She thought about XH.
About how he had always known her, even when he didn't choose her fast enough.
Kitty hugged her knees to her chest.
"I don't want to disappear," she whispered.
The realization came quietly.
She didn't want attention.
She wanted to matter.
And that meant honesty, even when it hurt.
June Doesn't Dodge the Truth
June's advisement session ended with paperwork.
Forms. Options. Clear, professional language.
She left with a folder tucked under her arm and no illusions in her head.
Outside the office, she spotted XH leaning against the wall, staring at his phone without seeing it.
She approached.
"How'd it go?" she asked.
XH looked up. "They want me to choose safety."
June nodded. "They want everyone to."
He exhaled. "What about you?"
"They want me to be practical," June replied. "They always do."
XH glanced at her folder. "And?"
June's eyes were steady. "I won't give up trajectory just to feel safe."
XH nodded. "Same."
They walked together, tension creeping in quietly.
This wasn't romance tension.
This was future tension.
The First Real Disagreement
They stopped near the library again.
June turned to him. "We need to talk."
XH nodded. "Okay."
June took a breath. "You say you're staying. That you'll accept uncertainty. But I don't know what that looks like yet."
XH frowned. "I told them I'd accept it."
"I know," June said. "But accepting uncertainty isn't a plan. It's a posture."
The word stung.
"So what are you saying?" XH asked.
"I'm saying I need to know you won't freeze when the next pressure hits," June replied. "Because it will."
XH crossed his arms. "I didn't freeze today."
"No," June agreed. "You didn't. And that matters."
Then she added, quietly, "But you also didn't decide."
XH felt frustration flare. "I don't want to rush into something I can't undo."
June met his gaze. "And I don't want to wait until everything collapses."
Silence fell between them, heavier than before.
"This isn't about Kitty," June said suddenly.
XH blinked. "I know."
"It's about momentum," she continued. "I move forward when things get uncertain. You pause."
XH swallowed. "Pausing isn't running."
"No," June said gently. "But it's not standing either."
The truth landed cleanly.
XH looked away. "I'm trying to change."
June's voice softened. "I see that. I just need to know where you're changing toward."
He didn't have an answer yet.
And for the first time, that hurt them both.
Kitty Chooses to Speak
That evening, Kitty found XH outside the dorms.
Not planned.
Not dramatic.
Just a collision of paths.
"Hey," she said.
XH turned, surprised. "Hey."
They stood there awkwardly for a moment.
Kitty broke it first. "I had my advisement today."
"So did I," XH replied.
She nodded. "They want me to be safe."
XH smiled faintly. "Same."
Kitty studied his face. "Are you?"
The question was soft.
Not accusatory.
XH exhaled. "I don't know yet."
Kitty nodded slowly. "That makes sense."
She hesitated, then said, "I'm sorry for what I did in the courtyard."
XH blinked. "You don't have to—"
"I do," she interrupted gently. "I used noise because I was scared."
XH nodded. "I get that."
Kitty looked relieved. "Good."
She shifted her weight. "I'm not asking for anything. I just didn't want that to be the last loud thing between us."
XH smiled softly. "It won't be."
They stood there for a moment longer.
Then Kitty stepped back. "Goodnight, XH."
"Goodnight, Kitty."
She walked away lighter than she had in days.
After the Disagreement
Later that night, June sat at her desk, rereading the advisement notes.
XH sat in his room, staring at a blank page.
Neither texted.
Not because they were angry.
Because they needed space to think without performing reassurance.
Outside, Campus 2 rested uneasily.
Some students filled out transfer forms.
Others doubled down on dreams.
Everyone felt the weight of choice pressing closer.
And in the middle of it all, three people faced different versions of the same question:
Who do you become when certainty leaves?