Students in crisp, navy-and-white uniforms flowed toward the main building in familiar clusters, laughter and shouted greetings weaving through the humid air. You stood near the base of the broad stone steps, your backpack slung over one shoulder, scanning the crowd.

Then you saw him. Elliot was leaning against the trunk of an old oak tree, slightly apart from the main current of students. His head was bent, dirty-blond hair falling over his forehead as he looked at his phone—the one with the cracked screen you’d been trying to replace for months. His shoulders were already set in that familiar, tense line.