The apartment had never felt so alive.
The kitchen smelled like cardamom and rosemary. Something bubbling on the stove—my mum's way of saying "I'm proud of you" without needing the words. Our old radio hummed a crackly tune from the windowsill while Liam dashed through the room holding a balloon he'd drawn a graduation cap on.
"Did they clap?" he asked for the fifth time.
I laughed. "No balloons, no confetti. But they said yes."
He grinned, all teeth and freckles. "Then I clap!" He stomped both feet and let out a cheer that shook the peeling walls.
---
Mum turned from the stove with misty eyes. She wiped her hands on her apron and walked over, cupping my face gently.
"My little girl," she whispered. "You did it."
"I didn't do it alone," I murmured.
She shook her head. "No. But you fought. And that's what matters."
---
The food wasn't fancy—rice, herbed stew, roasted plantains—but it was the best meal I'd had in weeks. Not because of the flavors, but because of the silence between bites. Comfortable. Safe.
We talked about everything but the university. Mum told old stories about my father again—how he once tried to build her a bookshelf and accidentally nailed it to the floor. Liam asked a hundred questions about my "fancy classes" and if I'd become a lawyer, or a doctor, or a spy.
---
As the dishes soaked in the sink and night wrapped around the city, we sat curled up on the couch, blanket draped over all three of us.
"You know," Mum said softly, brushing my hair behind my ear, "your papa would be so proud. You've carried us for so long, Lilly. Let us carry you now."
I swallowed hard.
"You do," I whispered.
She pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Not like this."
---
When Liam finally fell asleep on my lap, mouth slightly open, I looked around our little home.
It was small. Worn. Cramped.
But it held everything I fought for.
Not the university name.
Not even the Legacy Grant.
But this—family, love, and the hope that maybe tomorrow didn't have to feel like survival.
---
My phone buzzed once.
A text from Luca:
> "They're already whispering. But you shine louder than all of them."
I smiled.
Then tucked my phone away.
Because tonight wasn't about them.
Tonight was ours.
💦LUCA POV💦
I didn't care about the buzz on campus.
Not the professors whispering, not the administrators exchanging loaded glances, not even the way Samantha stormed out of the hearing like she was about to shatter glass with her bare hands.
None of it mattered.
Lilly won.
And it felt better than anything I'd accomplished in my own name.
---
"Okay, bro, so…" Alex said, dragging out the "o" as we sat around the table at Eastwood Café later that night. "You basically stormed a boardroom like some corporate gladiator for her."
I sipped my coffee. "I told the truth."
Julian raised an eyebrow. "You threw yourself under the bus for the truth?"
"It wasn't a bus," I muttered.
"Dude." Ethan leaned back in his chair. "You gave a whole speech. A dramatic, noble, tortured-rich-boy monologue. About her."
"I gave context," I corrected.
Alex snorted. "Context? You practically said she was the only girl who's ever made you feel something since your fourth grade pet fish died."
"I'm not in love with her," I snapped, too fast.
Too sharp.
The table went quiet.
---
Ethan tapped his knuckles on the tabletop. "No one said anything about love, Luca."
Julian tilted his head. "But now that you did…"
I looked away.
Out the window, the streetlights blurred. A girl passed by carrying a violin case and a backpack twice her size.
"She's… different," I said finally. "She doesn't care about the name. The money. She looks at me like I'm not some walking last name. That scares the hell out of me."
"Because she sees you," Julian said quietly.