Page 61 of Fighting Fate

But as I take a sip of water, the weight of responsibilities begins to suffocate me. Even in moments where I should be catching my breath, my mind won't stop racing.

Wyatt slides down beside me, extending his legs and interlocking his fingers before leaning back against the mirrored wall. His eyes, filled with empathy, remain fixed on me. He reaches out, softly taking my hand in his. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

That's the million-dollar question.

How do I even begin to explain? One moment I feel like I'm in control, the next I'm drowning in assignments, my tutoring schedule, and dance rehearsals. I'm not just worrying about myself, but Wyatt, the Hanmann sisters, and everything else. I love it, sure, but it's overwhelming.

And then there's Miles. It's weird—I used to see him just on weekends and breaks, but now it's like he's always around. I crave his attention and then, suddenly, I need space. It's confusing, to say the least.

Get a grip, Milli. This isn't how your freshman year was supposed to be like.

EXACTLY! That's why I'm pushing myself so hard today. This week has to be different, better than how it started, I insist, the conviction in my voice strong.

I recall the conversation with Payson and Brooke after my tutoring session with Miles. Payson, with her usual candidness, had said, "Milli, this is your year. You're supposed to discover yourself; let loose. You're acting like a stressed-out senior." She had pursed her lips in that characteristic way of hers, indicating her disapproval, and added, "Remember our pact before school started, right? You owe it to yourself to fulfill that promise."

And she's not wrong.

Then Brooke, after giving me one of those essential best friend hugs, had chimed in, "Milli, I love you, but Payson's right. You need to dial it back a bit. Maybe reschedule some tutoring sessions, treat yourself to your favorite Sour Patch Kids, or just dance. Lose yourself in it. You know how much it grounds you."

And Brooke was spot on, too.

I take a long drink of water, savoring its coolness. I close my eyes and let out a deep breath, trying to shut out the chaos in my mind and just be here with Wyatt. He's been a constant, calming presence, reminding me of my previous tutor, who made everything seem so easy.

The first time I saw Wyatt, I was taken aback by his athletic build, so unlike the typical male dancer's physique. He could have easily been mistaken for a football player. But it was more than his looks—his energy, his fluidity in movement; he was like poetry in motion.

My phone vibrates on the floor, prompting a tired breath from me as I lower my head into my hands, peeking at the screen through the gaps between my fingers.

Mother: Milli, it's been a while since we heard from you. Give your mama a call when you get the chance. We miss you.

Just another thing to add to my ever-growing list of things to handle.

I hold back an eye roll. This marks the fifth "just checking in" text this week alone, mirroring every other week. Had I chosen a college out of state, without Miles or Luke nearby, her overprotective tendencies might have skyrocketed. Yet, I remind myself to be thankful for a mom who shows her care and concern, even if it feels overwhelming at times.

I'm about to decide whether to respond when another notification distracts me.

Luke

Mom mentioned she hasn't heard from you lately. Maybe give her a call? Want to grab coffee soon? I kind of miss you, sis.

Wyatt, noticing my distraction, clears his throat, pulling my attention back. His hand finds mine again, offering comfort.

"I'm just overwhelmed," I confess. "Is this how college is supposed to be? Crazy schedules, non-stop family check-ins, tons of coursework? I thought it was meant to be about freedom and figuring things out."

He gives a small, understanding smile and gently squeezes my hand, his thumb drawing soothing circles. "The first year is full of new experiences," he says thoughtfully, his gaze drifting to our reflection in the studio mirror. "As freshmen, we're meant to take each day as it comes. We're not supposed to have it all figured out yet. That's for the seniors."

His words draw a rare chuckle from me, a welcome sound amid the chaos of my week. It's comforting, having someone to talk things through with.

When he asks if I really love what I'm doing—the dance, the tutoring, all of it—I'm initially puzzled. But as I think about it, a smile forms. I genuinely love these things, despite the stress.

He holds my gaze, his words resonating deeply. "If you truly love what you're doing, even if it's stressful, then it's worth it." His perspective strikes a chord. Dancing, especially ballet, challenges me but brings immense joy. Tutoring, too, while demanding, is incredibly rewarding when I see a student succeed.

I nod while Wyatt begins to gather his belongings. I take a moment to observe him, the worry lines on his forehead, the tiredness in his eyes. Initially, I hesitated to share my troubles, not wanting to burden him. But as time has passed, I find myself opening up more, much like I used to with my former therapist. It's a relief to have someone who listens without judgment.

It's a bit like what I used to do with my former therapist.

I remember how vital therapy was for navigating the challenges of my childhood and learning differences. Those sessions were a lifeline, helping me untangle my thoughts and build resilience. I've learned that bottling up my feelings is counterproductive. To move forward, I need to express them, and with Wyatt, I've found that outlet.

He's become an incredible friend, the kind you hope to find when you step onto a college campus for the first time. Will people judge me? Will I make a lasting impression? Will I find my new partner-in-crime or end up flying solo? These were the questions swirling in my mind.