The clock didn't tick.
It watched.
Slow.
Patient.
As if it already knew how this story would end.
Goldshine Bridge College stretched before me wide corridors, polished floors, walls lined with framed achievements and smiling faces. A place people prayed to get into. A place parents bragged about. A place that promised futures.
Everyone walked like they belonged here.
I walked like I was trespassing.
They say this is one of the finest medical colleges in the country. A place where dreams are nurtured, not buried. Where ambition blooms, not bleeds.
So why did my chest feel tight? Why did happiness look like something dangerous something that might collapse if I touched it?
When I first decided to enroll here, I didn't feel proud.
I felt warned.
My Father's voice echoed in my head, the way it always did when something good happened.
Whenever something good happens to you, Paris… something bad always follows.
He said it casually. Like a fact. Like gravity.
My name is Paris Stebin.
Plain.Unremarkable. Easy to forget.
Just like the life I was meant to live.
I grew up in North Hampshire where survival came before dreams, and silence was louder than love. I didn't have parents cheering from the sidelines. I didn't have a safety net.
I had rules.And consequences.And the constant reminder that I was never truly wanted.
And yet
Somehow
I was here.
Two months ago,
"Paris?"
My mother's voice sliced through the walls.
"Paris?!"
Each syllable sharpened with anger.
"Where are you, Paris?"
The house held its breath.
I froze where I stood, my fingers clutching the edge of my desk like it could anchor me.
"Oh God…" my brother whispered from behind me. "Did she ?"
I lifted my hand.
Stop.
Don't say it.
Not yet.
Her footsteps hit the staircase hard, unforgiving.
Each step landed like a verdict.
My heart started racing. Too fast. Too loud. Like it was trying to escape before I couldn't.
Then,
"CRAZY?!"
My brother moved first. He always did. Always standing between me and the storm.
"Mom, please just calm down"
She brushed past him.
Two steps.
That's all the distance she left between us.
And then
The door flew open.
"What is THIS?!" she screamed.
Papers struck my face before I could react.
Thin. Sharp.
They slid to the floor like fallen feathers except feathers don't carry dreams.
"I told you TEN days ago!" she yelled. "Do you think I'm stupid?!"
My gaze dropped.
Goldshine Bridge Medical College.
Acceptance letter.
My chest hollowed.
"You went behind my back," she continued, voice trembling with fury. "You made decisions without permission. Without shame."
I tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
Some dreams die before they're ever spoken aloud.
"Mom, please," my brother said again, gripping her wrist gently. "Let us explain.."
"What situation?" she snapped, spinning on him. "WHAT situation?"
Her voice rose, wild and cruel.
"She was crazy that doesn't mean you have to be too!"
I started shaking.
Not visibly. Not dramatically.
The kind of shaking that happens inside your bones.
"We do NOT allow you to apply there!" she screamed, pointing at me. "Who told you to apply? WHO?"
She didn't wait for an answer.
"You're getting married to Sharvin. In ten days. Is that difficult to understand?"
Ten days.
The room tilted.
Then she bent down, picked up the papers, and tore them.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Once.
Twice.
Each rip sounded like something inside me breaking.
"I don't know why he ever brought you into this house," she spat.
"You're bad luck. You always have been."
Her words stayed.
Even after she left.
The door slammed.
And silence rushed in like it owned me.
I wasn't born into this family.
My parents died in a car accident when I was five months old. I don't remember them. I don't remember being held. Love exists for me only in theories.
Gavin,my father's friend brought me here.
I was a baby.
I didn't know what family meant. I learned by watching. And what I learned was how to endure, not belong.
My mother never loved me.
She tolerated me.
She fed me because she had to.
Clothed me because she was told to.
Kept me because divorce scared her more than I did.
When I was five, she tried to give me away.
Signed the papers. packed my things.
When my father found out, he threatened divorce.
That was my protection.
Fear.
The beatings stopped when I was thirteen.
Because my father came home dying.
Stage three cancer.
That year taught me what loss feels like before it happens.
We couldn't afford hope. We couldn't afford food and treatment. We chose survival. Barely.
Four years later, he was gone.
I was working at a canteen then.
Ten dollars a month.
That was my worth.
And still
I dared to dream.
I was crying when my brother Cenit came back.
Quietly. The way he always did.
He sat beside me.
Didn't touch me.
Just stayed.
"Pari," he said softly. "I'm here."
Something in me cracked.
"I'll fix this," he whispered. "I promise. That marriage it won't happen istg it won't ."
I laughed weakly.
Nothing ever fixes for people like me.
But he looked at me like he believed it.
"You remember our plan?" he asked.
I nodded.
"I swear," he said. "I'll make it work.I can't let you marry that person."
Then so quiet it almost scared me
"I'll help you run."