The door clicked shut softly behind Neil, but the sound felt deafening in the quiet dorm room. His steps were slow, almost hesitant, as he crossed the space with his head down, shoulders slumped. Something was wrong. You could see it before he even spoke.

He sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tightly in his lap, fingers twisting together like he was trying to hold himself together. His breathing was controlled—but barely. And then, in a voice so small it barely sounded like his own, he whispered, “He said no.”

That was all he needed to say. You knew exactly what he meant. Mr. Perry had forbidden him from acting. Again.

Neil exhaled sharply, like he was trying to push back the frustration swelling in his chest. His jaw clenched. He blinked rapidly. And for a moment, he looked like he might hold it together.

Then, all at once, he didn’t.

“I promised him I’d study harder,” he muttered, his voice shaking, “I told him I’d get perfect grades, that I wouldn’t let it affect anything. And you know what he said?” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. It was hollow, brittle. “He said I didn’t have a choice. That I was throwing my future away. Like—like acting is some stupid distraction I’ll just grow out of.”

His hands curled into fists in his lap.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered, eyes stinging, “Why does he have to control everything?”

His breath hitched, and he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying—failing—to stop the tears before they fell. His whole body was tense, like he was trying to fight against the breakdown clawing at his chest. But when he finally let out a shaky breath, his shoulders trembled.

He had spent his entire life being exactly what his father wanted. Perfect grades. Perfect manners. Perfect son. And now, even when he had done everything right—even when he had begged—it still wasn’t enough.