The morning fog hung over Houston University like a shroud, its tendrils weaving through the campus corridors where Gerald walked with measured steps. His worn sneakers squeaked against the polished marble floors, a stark contrast to the designer footwear that seemed to echo from every direction. The contrast wasn't lost on him—it never was.
Gerald's reflection caught in the gleaming surface of the administration building's windows as he passed. His dark curls were disheveled from another restless night in the cramped dormitory room, and his secondhand jacket hung loose on his frame. The sight made him think of Xavier, of how she used to run her fingers through his hair and tell him it didn't matter that his clothes came from thrift stores.
That was before she discovered the weight of designer labels and the allure of leather handbags that cost more than his monthly food budget.
"Gerald!" Clinton's voice cut through the morning air, accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps. His best friend approached with that familiar look of concern etched across his features. "You look like hell, man."
"Thanks for the pep talk," Gerald muttered, adjusting the strap of his worn backpack. The zipper had been broken for months, held together by a safety pin that caught the light occasionally, reminding him of how temporary everything felt.
Clinton fell into step beside him, his own modest attire a comfortable contrast to the parade of luxury that surrounded them. "You know I didn't mean it like that. It's just... you've been different since the whole thing with Xavier."
Gerald's jaw tightened at the mention of her name. Xavier had been more than just his girlfriend—she'd been his anchor in a world that seemed determined to remind him of his place. Her departure had left a void that even Naomi's unwavering friendship couldn't quite fill.
"Have you talked to her?" Clinton pressed, his voice careful.
"What's there to talk about?" Gerald's response was sharper than intended. "She made her choice. Designer bags and expensive dinners won over whatever we had."
The campus around them buzzed with the usual morning activity. Students clustered in groups, their conversations punctuated by the rustle of shopping bags from boutiques Gerald had never set foot in. A group of girls passed by, their laughter musical as they discussed weekend plans that involved restaurants Gerald couldn't pronounce, let alone afford.
"You know that's not fair," Clinton said quietly. "Xavier wasn't just about the money."
Gerald stopped walking abruptly, turning to face his friend. "Wasn't she? Then explain to me why she's been seen around campus with her new crowd, carrying bags that cost more than my tuition. Explain to me why she can't even make eye contact anymore."
Before Clinton could respond, the sound of an expensive engine interrupted their conversation. Danny's sleek black sedan pulled into the parking area reserved for premium spaces, its chrome gleaming under the morning sun. Gerald watched as Danny emerged, his movements fluid and confident, every piece of his attire screaming understated wealth.
"Some people just have it easier," Gerald said, more to himself than to Clinton.
Danny's eyes found Gerald's across the courtyard, and for a moment, something passed between them—not hostility, but a mutual recognition of the chasm that separated their worlds. Danny's expensive watch caught the light as he raised his hand in what might have been a greeting or merely an acknowledgment.
"He's not the enemy," Clinton observed, following Gerald's gaze.
"No," Gerald agreed, "he's just a reminder of everything I'm not."
They resumed walking, passing the fountain where students gathered between classes. Gerald noticed Blondie among a group of well-dressed students, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she gestured animatedly. As class president, she moved seamlessly between different social circles, but Gerald had observed how she gravitated toward those who shared her background of privilege.
"Gerald." The voice belonged to Naomi, and Gerald turned to find her approaching with that purposeful stride that had become so familiar. Despite her status as a conglomerate heiress, she'd never made him feel inadequate about his circumstances. Her presence was a constant reminder that wealth didn't automatically equate to character.
"Naomi," he acknowledged, noting how Clinton straightened slightly in her presence. His friend had never been entirely comfortable around her, though whether it was due to her wealth or her beauty, Gerald couldn't say.
"I wanted to talk to you about something," she said, her tone suggesting importance. "Privately."
Clinton took the hint, excusing himself with a promise to catch up later. Gerald watched him go, then turned his attention back to Naomi.
"What's on your mind?"
"It's about Xavier," she said without preamble. "And before you shut down, just listen."
Gerald's expression hardened, but he remained silent.
"She's been asking about you," Naomi continued. "Alice mentioned it yesterday. Apparently, Xavier's been... struggling with some things."
"Struggling?" Gerald's voice carried a bitter edge. "Must be tough deciding between Hermès and Gucci."
"That's not fair, and you know it." Naomi's tone was firm but not unkind. "You're better than that, Gerald. You've always been better than that."
Around them, the campus continued its morning rhythm. Students hurried to classes, their conversations creating a backdrop of normalcy that felt at odds with the tension Gerald carried. He watched a group of second-generation rich kids, including Alice, gather near the business building, their designer outfits creating a kaleidoscope of wealth and privilege.
"What exactly did Alice say?" Gerald asked, his curiosity overriding his pride.
"That Xavier's been distant lately. More than usual. She's been carrying around this expensive bag—something from that new boutique downtown—but Alice said she seemed almost... guilty about it."
Gerald processed this information, his mind working through the implications. "Guilty about what?"
"Maybe about how she left things with you," Naomi suggested. "Maybe about the choices she's been making."
Before Gerald could respond, the sound of footsteps on marble drew their attention. Danny approached, flanked by Yuri, whose own expensive attire marked him as another member of the campus elite. Gerald tensed slightly, old habits of defensiveness surfacing.
"Gerald," Danny said, his voice carrying an unexpected note of sincerity. "I was hoping I might have a word."
Naomi glanced between them, her expression unreadable. "I'll catch up with you later," she told Gerald, her departure leaving the three young men in an awkward triangle of unspoken tension.
"What can I do for you, Danny?" Gerald asked, his tone carefully neutral.
Danny's expensive watch gleamed as he adjusted his cuff—a nervous habit Gerald had observed during their few previous interactions. "I wanted to apologize for the other night. At Soso."
The mention of the upscale restaurant brought back memories Gerald had been trying to suppress. The evening had been Naomi's idea, an attempt to bridge the gap between different social circles. It had ended with Gerald feeling more out of place than ever.
"You don't owe me an apology," Gerald said carefully. "We both know where we stand."
"That's just it," Danny replied, his voice dropping slightly. "I'm not sure we do."
Yuri shifted uncomfortably beside his friend, his gaze darting between Gerald and Danny. "Maybe we should head to class," he suggested, but Danny waved him off.
"I've been thinking about what you said," Danny continued, addressing Gerald directly. "About how easy it is to take things for granted when you've never had to worry about them."
Gerald studied Danny's face, looking for signs of insincerity but finding none. "And?"
"And you were right." Danny's admission hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. "I've been living in a bubble, and I think... I think maybe you've been living in one too."
The words stung because they carried truth. Gerald had built walls around himself, using his poverty as both shield and weapon, defining himself by what he lacked rather than what he possessed.
"What are you suggesting?" Gerald asked.
"I'm suggesting that maybe we're both wrong about each other," Danny said. "Maybe the divide isn't as wide as we think."
Yuri checked his expensive timepiece, a subtle reminder of the world they inhabited. "Danny, we really should—"
"In a minute," Danny cut him off, his attention still focused on Gerald. "I know what it's like to feel trapped by expectations. Yours might be different from mine, but they're still expectations."
Gerald felt something shift in his chest, a loosening of the tight coil of resentment he'd carried for so long. "It's not that simple."
"No," Danny agreed, "it's not. But maybe it doesn't have to be as complicated as we've made it."
The bell tower chimed the hour, its sound echoing across the campus and breaking the moment between them. Students began moving with renewed purpose, the leisurely pace of morning giving way to the urgency of scheduled obligations.
"I should go," Gerald said, hitching his backpack higher on his shoulder. The safety pin caught the light again, a small reminder of the practical concerns that governed his daily life.
"Gerald," Danny called as he turned to leave. "That restaurant, Soso. Maybe we could try it again sometime. Just... differently."
Gerald paused, considering the offer and all its implications. Around them, the campus hummed with activity—expensive cars pulling into parking spaces, students with designer bags hurrying to class, the constant display of wealth that had become the backdrop of his education.
"Maybe," he said finally, and for the first time in weeks, the word didn't feel like a concession.
As Gerald walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted. The weight of silence that had pressed down on him since Xavier's departure felt lighter somehow, replaced by the possibility of conversations yet to come.
The morning fog was beginning to lift, revealing the sharp edges of the campus buildings and the clear blue sky beyond. Gerald quickened his pace, his worn sneakers squeaking against the marble with a rhythm that no longer sounded quite so out of place.