I've never really been the type to doubt myself. I'm an Alcove, for goodness' sake.
My family's name comes with expectations—big ones—but it's never been about trying to live up to those expectations for me.
It's about forging my own way, even if my path constantly gets interrupted by the forces that think they know better. You'd think by now I'd be used to that.
But recently? Recently, it's been harder to ignore. And this thing—this gnawing feeling at the back of my mind—keeps poking me, asking questions I don't have answers to.
The kind of questions that make you reevaluate your entire life, your purpose, your place in the world.
The worst part? I have no idea where to start.
Exams were around the corner, and I was supposed to be deep in my books, cramming terms and definitions. But instead, I sat there, distracted, half-lost in my thoughts as a familiar chill crept down my spine.
