Chapter 4:Building Bridges

The sun hung low over the college campus, spilling soft gold across the mix of sleek modern buildings and proud old stone halls that gave the place its character. An autumn breeze slipped through the trees, tugging loose leaves into the air and setting them whispering across the walkways. For Oliver, this was no ordinary afternoon. It felt like a quiet beginning, not shaped by old humiliation or fear, but by a growing love for design and the fragile sense of belonging he had found inside the design club. As he stepped toward the meeting room, hope stirred in his chest, cautious but alive.

The moment he entered, that hope swelled. The room buzzed with life. Tables were cluttered with bright sketches, half-built models, and scraps of fabric that shimmered under the lights. Voices overlapped in excited bursts as students leaned over each other’s work, pointing, debating, imagining. Posters from past showcases lined the walls, each one proof that struggle could turn into something beautiful. Oliver breathed in deeply. Paint, glue, and fresh paper filled his lungs, grounding him. For once, he felt safe. Here, no one was watching him with cruel eyes. Here, he could exist.

“Oliver! Over here!” Sarah called, her voice bright and easy as it cut through the noise. She waved, and that familiar spark of excitement fluttered in his chest before he could stop it.

She sat at a long table scattered with sketches and fabric swatches, her hazel eyes alive with energy. Sarah always looked confident, the kind of confidence Oliver wished he could borrow, but what truly mattered was her kindness. She made space without making it feel like charity. She made him feel wanted.

Beside her, Max hunched over a small model, carefully adjusting its angles with steady hands. His focus was intense, almost reverent. “What do you think?” Max asked, turning the piece slowly, a hint of pride in his voice.

“It looks amazing,” Oliver said, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the room. “You really nailed the movement. It feels alive.”

As Max smiled, something in Oliver loosened. The tight knot in his chest slowly unraveled. The warmth of shared creation wrapped around him, pushing back memories of laughter that had once been sharp and cruel.

The club had taken on a new project, a large collaborative installation meant to reflect individuality and connection at the same time. It wasn’t just art. It was a statement. For many of them, Oliver included—it carried pieces of their pain, their survival, their hope. Ideas flew freely. Voices rose and fell as they debated colors, materials, shapes, and meaning. For the first time in longer than Oliver could remember, he felt like he belonged to something that mattered.

The next hour passed in a blur of laughter and creativity. Oliver spoke more than usual, surprised by the strength in his own voice. Each nod of approval, each word of encouragement, rooted him more firmly in place. The club felt like a shield, a bright pocket of joy that made the rest of the campus fade away.

Then the shadows crept back in.

It started quietly, snippets of conversation drifting in from the hallway, sharp enough to cut through the noise. Oliver froze when he heard the name.

Caspian.

“I swear, he’s getting bold,” Caspian’s voice sneered, low and deliberate. “Design club’s made him forget himself.”

A pause. Then laughter. Not playful. Hungry.

“We should remind him who he is,” another voice added.

“And where he stands,” Caspian finished, his tone calm in a way that made it worse. “People like him always need reminders.”

The words slammed into Oliver’s chest. His stomach dropped as if the floor had vanished beneath him. Cold spread down his spine, sharp and familiar. The room around him blurred, colors bleeding together as fear clawed its way back into his thoughts. Caspian wasn’t just a bully. He was patient. Calculated. He enjoyed watching people break.

“Oliver?” Sarah’s voice reached him, softer now. “Are you okay?”

He forced himself to breathe. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I just… heard something.” He swallowed. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”

The smile he gave her felt thin, fragile. But beneath the fear, something else stirred—anger, resolve, a refusal to shrink again.

As the meeting ended, Oliver stayed behind while the others filtered out, laughing and chatting as they packed up. Alone, the weight of Caspian’s words pressed down on him. He stared at the sketches spread across the tables. Each one held a piece of him—his voice, his hope, his fight.

He couldn’t let fear steal this from him. He wouldn’t.

If Caspian wanted to remind him who he was, Oliver would remind Caspian too—not with fists or cruelty, but with purpose. With the strength he had found in creation, in people who saw him.

Outside, dusk settled over the campus. The last light slipped beneath the horizon as Oliver joined his friends. His heart pounded, fear and courage tangling together in his chest.

“Hey,” he said, drawing their attention. “Can we talk about how we’re presenting the installation? I’ve got a few ideas.”

Their excitement washed over him, lifting him higher. In that moment, surrounded by shared dreams and shared scars, Oliver felt stronger. They stood together, bound by creativity and trust.

Still, as the night deepened, reality lingered close. Caspian was out there. Watching. Waiting.

But Oliver stepped into the darkness with his head up. He wasn’t hiding anymore. He carried his resolve with him, steady and fierce, ready to face whatever storm came next—and to paint his future in his own colors.