The future stopped being theoretical. It arrived in forms.
Clicking "Submit"
Juni stared at the screen longer than necessary. His portfolio was open in neat thumbnails—sketches, mixed media pieces, one unfinished work he'd almost removed but hadn't. The cursor hovered over the button.
"…I feel like I'm about to jump," he said quietly.
Elian leaned against the desk. "You're not jumping," he said. "You're stepping."
Juni exhaled. Then clicked Submit.
The screen refreshed. That was it.
For a moment, Juni just sat there. "…I did it," he said, almost disbelieving.
Elian smiled. "I know."
They walked home slowly, the city wrapped in late-afternoon warmth. "…I keep thinking they'll laugh," Juni admitted. "Or that I'll get nothing back."
Elian shook his head. "Whatever they say doesn't erase the fact that you tried," he said. "That matters."
Juni nodded. "…It feels like I just told the world I exist."
Elian glanced at him. "I'm pretty sure the world noticed a while ago."
Juni laughed softly.
The next day, the principal called Elian's name during assembly. This time, it was unmistakable. "Elian Sorell," she said, "has achieved the highest overall score in the cohort."
Applause rippled through the hall.
Elian felt it land strangely—like something he'd once chased without thinking, now arriving when he wasn't sure how to hold it. He clapped politely when prompted. Sat back down.
Juni turned toward him, eyes wide. "…You did it," he whispered.
Elian swallowed. "…Even with physics," he murmured back.
Juni smiled. "Especially with physics."
After assembly, congratulations came in waves.
Teachers. Classmates.
Even students who barely knew him. Elian accepted them calmly—but without the rush he used to feel. At lunch, when the noise finally quieted, Juni studied him.
"You're not floating," Juni said.
Elian considered that. "…I think I already landed," he replied.
Juni smiled. "That sounds healthy."
Elian laughed softly. "I learned from the best."
That evening, Juni checked his email compulsively—then stopped himself. "…I don't want this to turn into panic," he said.
Elian nodded. "Then let's not let it."
They sat side by side, quiet but grounded. Two futures unfolding at different speeds. Neither dragging the other behind.
At the bus stop the next morning, Juni bumped Elian's shoulder lightly. "…I'm proud of you," he said.
Elian met his eyes. "…I'm proud of you too."
They didn't need to say why.
It was all there—in the forms sent, the numbers announced, the courage still humming beneath it all. The aftershocks of choice hadn't knocked them apart. They had widened the ground beneath their feet.
And for the first time, both boys stood in their futures—
Not alone.