Elian had always known how to talk about plans. Just not his own. The conversation began over dinner.
Not formally. Not deliberately.
Lorian was reviewing messages on his tablet, Evelyn listening with half a smile as Elian picked at his food. "…The international program deadlines are coming up," Lorian said casually. "We should start discussing which track you're leaning toward."
Elian's hand paused.
Evelyn looked up. "Elian?" she asked gently.
He took a breath. "I know what the expectations are," he said. "But I want to talk about… alternatives." The word hung in the air.
Lorian set the tablet aside immediately.
Not annoyed. Not defensive. Attentive.
"All right," he said. "Tell us."
Elian swallowed. "I don't want to decide my entire life based only on the family's direction," he said carefully. "I want room to choose something that… fits."
Lorian studied him. "And what do you think fits?" he asked.
Elian hesitated. "…I'm not sure yet," he admitted. "But I know I don't want to live like my future's already written."
Evelyn didn't interrupt. She watched Elian's posture—the tension in his shoulders, the way he braced as if expecting resistance. "Elian," she said softly, "you're allowed not to know yet."
He exhaled.
Lorian nodded slowly. "You've always been prepared," Lorian said. "Maybe we assumed preparation meant certainty."
Elian looked up, surprised.
"There's someone important to me," Elian said quietly. He didn't name Juni. He didn't have to. "I don't want a future where I have to leave parts of myself behind to succeed."
The room was silent.
Then Lorian spoke. "Love changes how we think about direction," he said. "That doesn't make it a weakness."
Elian's throat tightened.
"I built what I did because I wanted stability," Lorian continued. "Not because I wanted control." He looked directly at Elian. "If you choose a different path—one that still honors who you are—that doesn't erase our family. It expands it."
Elian felt something loosen in his chest.
Later that night, Elian sat on his bed, phone in hand. He hesitated before typing.
I talked to them.
A pause.
Then:
They listened.
The reply came almost immediately.
I'm proud of you.
Elian smiled.
At the bus stop the next morning, Juni arrived carrying his sketchbook, eyes sleepy but bright. "…You look lighter," Juni said.
Elian nodded. "I think I am."
They sat together, shoulders touching. The future still loomed—uncertain, complicated, demanding. But for the first time, Elian felt something steady beneath it all.
He wasn't choosing alone.
And tomorrow no longer felt like something he had to earn. It felt like something he was allowed to imagine.