Chapter 11: The Space Between Truth and Fear

Ryan wasn’t used to being happy.

He’d gotten used to the buzz of anxiety, the tension of walking on eggshells. Happiness felt… foreign. Almost suspicious. Like it came with strings he couldn’t see.

But that morning, waking up with Daniel’s text still glowing on his phone and the ache in his chest gone he almost believed it could last.

Classes were back in full swing.

Midterms looming.

Stress building in every hallway and study nook.

But Ryan’s mind was elsewhere.

Specifically: on the “I love you.”

It didn’t feel too soon.

It felt… inevitable.

The kind of truth that had always been quietly building in the background. Like gravity.

At lunch, he and Daniel sat on the grass near the back of the media building  a quiet place with a view of the campus fountain.

Daniel was sketching in a small pad, lines flowing like muscle memory.

“What are you drawing?”

“You.”

Ryan blinked. “Seriously?”

“Well. A version of you,” Daniel said, half-smiling. “The one who’s free.”

Ryan looked down at the rough outlines. The posture was strong. Head up. No fear in the shoulders.

He didn’t recognize himself.

“I want to be that,” Ryan said softly.

“You already are,” Daniel replied, never looking up.

But things were never that simple.

That afternoon, Ryan was called into Professor Langley’s office.

Langley was new. Young. Too charming, and too invested in “student development.” Ryan always felt a little off around him.

“Ryan,” Langley said as the door shut behind him. “Take a seat.”

Ryan obeyed. His throat tight.

“I’ve been reviewing some of your writing,” Langley began. “Your workshop pieces. Your journal entry submissions.”

Ryan blinked. “Okay?”

“They’re… raw,” Langley said, tilting his head. “Painful. Honest. Which is exactly what publishers look for.”

Ryan frowned. “Publishers?”

“I have contacts,” Langley said, smiling just a little too slowly. “And I think, with a bit of polishing, your voice could land somewhere big.”

Ryan swallowed. “That’s flattering, but… I’m not sure I’m ready.”

Langley leaned forward slightly. “Let me help. I’ll mentor you. You have something… unique. People want to read about suffering. Especially from someone who’s been through hell and still stands.”

The way he said it made Ryan’s skin crawl.

He smiled politely. “I’ll think about it.”

But something about Langley’s gaze lingered too long.

He told Daniel about it that night.

And Daniel’s reaction was instant.

“I don’t like that guy.”

Ryan blinked. “You’ve never even met him.”

“I don’t have to. The way you said he spoke to you? That’s manipulation, Ry.”

Ryan hesitated. “Or maybe he just sees potential.”

Daniel shook his head. “No one sees you as just potential when they stare too long.”

Ryan wanted to argue. But deep down… he already knew Daniel was right.

Meanwhile, Thomas hadn’t gone silent.

He was posting vague tweets. Screenshotting old texts. Stirring whispers online.

Ryan caught one late at night:

“Funny how the ones who pretend to be rescuers used to be the villains.”

It wasn’t tagged.

But it felt aimed.

Daniel tried to ignore it. He didn’t respond publicly. But his fingers twitched with the urge.

“I could fight back,” Daniel muttered, scrolling. “I could drag his entire history into daylight.”

“You don’t need to,” Ryan said, gently placing a hand over his. “You already won.”

Still, the shadows lingered.

Not all of them online.

Ryan noticed someone watching him near the student café the next day. Not a student. Older. Tall. A subtle camera bag slung across his shoulder.

When Ryan looked up and made eye contact —the man turned and walked away.

That night, the email came.

From Langley.

“If you’re serious about writing something publishable, let’s meet off-campus. I know a place where we can talk freely.”

Ryan stared at the screen.

And didn’t know whether to be flattered… or afraid.