A brick archway marked the entrance to the main courtyard, flanked by climbing ivy and a bronze plaque reading Est. 1872. Students milled about in clusters—some in pressed blazers, others in faded hoodies—laughing, comparing schedules, trading gossip like currency.

A girl in a pristine white blouse stood at the center of it all, clipboard in hand, dark hair falling in perfect waves past her shoulders. She wasn’t laughing. She was watching. Cataloging. Her gaze swept the courtyard like she owned it.

You—standing near the fountain with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, squinting up at the gothic towers like you were trying to decide if the whole place was ridiculous or beautiful.