The iron gates of Yale University rose before them like a verdict.
Tall. Ancient. Unforgiving.
As Erica's car slowed, the tires crunching softly against the gravel, Luna felt something tighten in her chest. The campus unfolded gradually, deliberately, as if it were revealing itself only to those it deemed worthy. Gothic towers loomed overhead, their stone facades darkened by centuries of rain and ambition. Ivy crawled up the walls like veins, alive and possessive, claiming everything it touched.
This was not just a school.
It was power, carved into stone.
Luna pressed her forehead lightly against the window, her breath fogging the glass as her eyes traced the outlines of buildings she had only ever seen in brochures and dreams. Sterling Memorial Library passed them slowly, its towering presence casting a long shadow across the road.
Her heart pounded.
This is real, she told herself.
I'm really here.
The campus was alive.
Students crossed walkways in clusters, laughter spilling freely from their mouths, their clothes expensive in ways Luna recognized instinctively. Designer backpacks slung casually over shoulders. Watches that gleamed too brightly. Confidence worn like perfume—subtle, but unmistakable.
Erica tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
She didn't say anything at first. She just watched her daughter from the corner of her eye, watching the way Luna's gaze darted everywhere at once, absorbing too much, too fast. Pride swelled in her chest—sharp, almost painful—but it was tangled with something darker.
Fear.
Because Erica knew places like this.
Places that promised opportunity while quietly demanding pieces of your soul in return.
Stephanie leaned forward from the back seat, her face pressed eagerly between the headrests. "This place is insane," she breathed. "It's like… a movie."
Luna didn't answer. She couldn't. Her throat felt tight, her voice trapped behind it.
As they turned onto College Street, the illusion deepened. Cafés lined the sidewalks, their glass windows reflecting wealth and comfort. Bookstores stood proudly, their shelves visible from the street, heavy with knowledge that had shaped generations of powerful minds.
Different expensive cars, making their way in like a flooding water. Porsche, Lamborghinis' and the rest
Everywhere Luna looked, there was history.
And expectation.
Erica's thoughts drifted despite herself—to Andrew. To how proud he would have been. To how much he should have been here, sitting beside her, pretending not to cry.
Instead, she swallowed hard and pulled into the drop-off zone.
Cars lined the curb, trunks opening and closing, parents hugging children too tightly or not tightly enough. Some smiled with ease, others wiped away tears without shame. This was a ritual. One Yale had seen thousands of times.
But for Erica, it felt final.
She turned off the engine.
The silence inside the car pressed in.
"This is it," she said softly.
Luna nodded, her fingers curling into the strap of her bag. Her hand hovered over the door handle—but didn't move.
Erica turned to her. "You've got this," she said, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. "You worked for this. You earned it."
Luna met her eyes.
There was a silent understanding there. A shared knowledge that words could not fully capture.
"I won't mess this up," Luna whispered.
Erica reached out, cupping Luna's face in her hands, memorizing it—the familiar curve of her cheek, the warmth of her skin. "You won't," she said. "And even if you stumble… you're never alone. Never forget that."
Stephanie climbed out first, slamming the door harder than necessary, blinking rapidly as she pulled Luna into a tight hug. "You better survive this place," she murmured. "Because I'm not losing you to a bunch of rich idiots."
Luna laughed weakly, hugging her back. "I'll come back," she promised.
But promises felt fragile here.
Then Erica hugged her.
It was crushing. Desperate. Final.
"I'll be fine, Mom," Luna said, her voice muffled against Erica's shoulder.
Erica nodded, even as tears burned her eyes. "I know," she whispered. "I know."
Luna stepped out of the car.
The door closed behind her with a dull thud.
And just like that, something ended.
She didn't look back. She couldn't. If she did, she might not be able to walk forward.
As she disappeared into the crowd, Erica sat frozen in the driver's seat, staring at the space her daughter had occupied moments before. Her chest ached violently.
Stephanie slipped her hand into Erica's, squeezing gently.
"Letting go," Stephanie said quietly, "is the hardest part."
Erica nodded, her eyes never leaving the campus. "Sometimes," she replied, "it's the most dangerous."
When Luna reached the residential hall, the air felt different.
Heavier.
Inside, the space gleamed with polished marble floors and soaring ceilings. Conversations echoed softly, laughter ringing with an ease Luna didn't share. She felt it immediately—the aura of wealth, of entitlement, of lives untouched by struggle.
This place did not apologize for its luxury.
She moved toward the reception desk, her steps hesitant.
"Hello, miss," a woman said brightly. "How may I help you?"
Luna swallowed. "I—I'm Luna Grey. A freshman."
The receptionist—Mrs. Diva, her name tag read—smiled warmly. "That's completely normal," she said kindly. "Welcome to Yale University."
Luna filled out the forms with shaking hands.
When the card was finally placed in her palm, cold and metallic, it felt heavier than it should have.
"Room 305," Mrs. Diva said. "Enjoy your stay."
Luna forced a smile. "Thank you."
As the elevator doors closed behind her, Luna exhaled shakily.
This was it.
No mother. No safety net. No turning back.
The doors opened.
And Yale swallowed her whole.
All she could think of is going into her dorm room. If this place is like a paradise, what would the students dorm rooms be like", Luna thought.
As The elevator doors slid shut with a soft, final sound.
Luna stood alone inside, her reflection staring back at her from the mirrored walls. She barely recognized herself. Her shoulders were stiff, her posture guarded, as though she had already learned—instinctively—that this place required armor.
The elevator rose smoothly, silently, as if even machinery here had been trained not to struggle.
Each passing floor felt like another layer separating her from the life she had known. The small house. The familiar streets. Her mother's voice calling her name from the kitchen. Those things felt distant now, dimmed, as though wrapped in fog.
When the doors opened on the third floor, Luna hesitated before stepping out.
The hallway stretched long and immaculate, lit by warm chandeliers that glimmered softly against polished walls. Plush carpet absorbed the sound of her footsteps, making her movements feel unnaturally quiet—like she was trespassing in a place meant to remain undisturbed.
Students passed by her without a second glance.
Some laughed openly, dragging expensive suitcases behind them. Others spoke on their phones in low, confident tones, discussing plans, connections, futures already mapped out. Luna caught fragments of conversation—vacations abroad, family names she recognized from headlines, casual mentions of donations and legacy.
Her chest tightened.
This is their world, she thought.
I'm just passing through it.
She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and continued down the hall, scanning the numbers on the doors until she saw it.
305.
Her hand hovered over the key card reader.
For a brief moment, she wondered if it would reject her. If a red light would flash and expose her as a mistake—someone who didn't belong here.
She swallowed and swiped the card.
The door clicked open.
Luna stepped inside—and stopped breathing.
The room was nothing like she had imagined.
It wasn't cramped. It wasn't plain. It wasn't the bare, functional space she had prepared herself for.
It was luxury.
Sunlight poured through a wide window, casting a golden glow across the spacious room. The carpet beneath her feet was soft and thick, swallowing sound. The walls were decorated with framed artwork—tasteful, expensive. Shelves lined one side of the room, already stocked with leather-bound books she hadn't touched.
A large desk sat beneath the window, sleek and modern, paired with a velvet chair that looked more suited to a private study than a dorm room. The bed dominated the space, its dark mahogany frame polished to a shine, layered with rich linens that looked untouched.
Above it all hung a small chandelier, its crystals catching the light.
Luna stood frozen.
This wasn't student housing.
This was a statement.
Her stomach twisted.
How much does this cost?
How many people could live off this?
She set her bag down slowly, afraid of disrupting the perfection of the room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pressed her palm into the mattress—it sank beneath her touch, soft and yielding.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips.
"So this is normal here," she whispered.
As she unpacked, carefully placing her clothes into the wardrobe, Luna felt the weight of her scholarship more acutely than ever. This comfort wasn't generosity—it was expectation. Yale did not believe in minimalism. It believed in excellence, in excess, in reminding you constantly of where you stood.
And Luna knew exactly where she stood.
Temporary.
Once settled, she left the room, deciding she couldn't sit alone with her thoughts any longer. The campus stretched endlessly outside, pathways winding between grand buildings and manicured lawns. Everything was beautiful. Too beautiful. It felt curated, controlled.
As she walked, she sensed it again—that invisible pressure. The awareness that eyes could be watching, measuring, categorizing.
She turned a corner too quickly.
And collided with someone.
"Oh—!" Luna stumbled back instinctively. "I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to—"
She bowed slightly in apology, panic rising in her chest. The last thing she wanted was trouble. Especially not with someone who clearly belonged here.
"Hey," a calm voice said. "It's okay."
Luna looked up.
The girl standing before her was striking in a way that made Luna pause. Tall. Slender. Effortlessly composed. Her dark hair fell neatly over her shoulders, framing a delicate face and eyes sharp enough to miss nothing.
She smiled—slow, assured.
"You don't have to apologize like that," the girl said gently. "I'm fine."
Luna straightened awkwardly. "I—sorry. I'm new."
The girl tilted her head. "Freshman?"
"Yes."
"I thought so," she said. "You still have that look."
"What look?" Luna asked.
"The one where everything feels too big," she replied. "I'm Cassandra."
"Oh. I'm Luna. Luna Grey."
Cassandra's gaze flicked briefly to the key card in Luna's hand. "Room 305?"
Luna blinked. "Yeah."
Cassandra smiled. "Mine's right across from yours. Guess we're neighbors."
The word felt strange to Luna.
Neighbors implied equality.
"I—it's nice to meet you," Luna said carefully.
"Likewise," Cassandra replied, extending her hand.
Their hands met.
The contact was brief—but something about it lingered, a subtle awareness passing between them. Cassandra's grip was confident, unhesitating. Luna's was cautious, restrained.
"Welcome to Yale," Cassandra said.
As they parted, Luna felt it again—the sense that something had shifted.
Back in her room later that evening, Luna showered, letting the warm water run over her shoulders. It did little to ease the tightness in her chest. When she finally lay down on the bed, exhaustion crashed into her all at once.
The ceiling above her seemed impossibly high.
Her thoughts drifted to her mother.
To Erica's hands shaking at the kitchen table. To the way she had smiled through fear.
Luna curled onto her side, clutching the pillow, the luxury of the room suddenly feeling cold.
I can do this, she told herself.
I have to.
Outside, Yale continued to breathe—alive, watchful, indifferent.
And somewhere within its walls, Luna Grey was already being measured against standards she had never agreed to.