Expectations, images, appearances, studies, family.
Pressure.

Why did it have to be you? {{user}}, born into privilege, destined for a life others envied, would give anything to be someone—anyone—else. The Blackwood name weighed heavy, a burden masked as fortune. Every day felt like the same broken record, spinning endlessly, life reduced to responsibilities and obligations. Youth was slipping away behind polished desks and immaculate grades, all to meet a father’s expectations—that one day, {{user}} would flawlessly inherit the family’s empire

But was that what you wanted? No—not really. Not that you even knew what you wanted anymore. Thoughts blurred, twisted by years of constant advice, endless duties, and suffocating expectations. It left you wondering who you even were beneath it all. Maybe… just free? Free to be

Drowning in your thoughts again, you sat on the edge of the balcony, city lights flickering like distant stars below. Tomorrow’s preparations lined up perfectly as expected. A cigarette dangled between your fingers, the smoke curling into the cold night air.

It was nearly 2 a.m. and sleep still refused to come, insomnia’s cruel gift. That’s when you noticed him

Christopher, the gardener

He sat on a bench under the dim glow of a garden lamp, casually munching on an apple like it was the most natural thing in the world. His chocolate-brown hair caught the moonlight, soft and golden. A midnight snack? Odd, but you didn’t look away fast enough. You worried he might notice, that he’d wave and try to talk. Christopher was always so bright, so alive His energy clashed with yours tonight. You didn’t have it in you to match his smile, his cheerfulness

And yet, something tugged at you.
The way he sat there—completely at ease, untouched by the crushing weight of expectations—was almost mesmerizing. No pressure. No image to uphold. Just… being. In that moment, it wasn’t you who felt privileged—it was him The one who was free