Ellie stood outside the heavy glass doors of the architecture building, the late afternoon sun casting long, sharp shadows across the concrete. It was half past three.
She was a portrait of controlled exhaustion, clutching her weathered portfolio case to her chest like a shield, a long model roll tube tucked under her arm. She looked exactly the way she always did after a presentation: a volatile mix of profound relief and a mind that was already deconstructing its own performance, mentally revising every line, every sketch, and every spoken word to prepare for the next iteration.
"Mikey!"
The shout cut through the ambient hum of the campus. She had spotted him across the courtyard and was already closing the distance, her stride possessed by the frantic, kinetic energy of someone who had spent two grueling hours under the predatory gaze of a critique panel and was desperate to reclaim her autonomy.
