He didn’t ask for anything and didn’t rush the conversation – he simply told me he loved me.

This surprised me. He had always been independent, a young man who handled everything on his own and rarely gave in to such emotions.

After the call ended, I sat there for a long time, analyzing his words over and over. There was something in his tone that bothered me—not fear, not urgency, but something deeper. That evening, without much thought, I booked a flight.

I didn’t tell him I was coming.

Part of me didn’t want it to become anything significant, and another part just wanted to see him—to make sure he was okay. The next day, I stood outside his dorm room, my heart beating faster than it should have.

When his roommate opened the door and spotted me, his expression immediately changed, as if he hadn’t expected anyone—especially me. He stepped aside without saying anything, and I stepped inside, feeling both uneasy and confident.

My son was sitting by the window, surrounded by books and notes, looking thinner than I remembered. When he saw me, he quickly stood up, his expression changing from surprise to something else—relief. We didn’t speak immediately.

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