POV of Sebastian Reinhardt
"Mother, please," I said in a tone that clearly conveyed my irritation as I adjusted the volume on my phone. I was sitting in one of the white leather seats of the private jet, looking out the window as the clouds drifted beneath us like cotton painted in light blue. "I've already told you I don't need reminders about how important this is. I'm perfectly aware."
On the other end of the line, my mother let out an audible sigh, the kind she always used when she wanted to show concern without saying it directly.
"Sebastian, darling, I'm not trying to lecture you," she replied, though her tone suggested otherwise. "I just want to make sure you're prepared for what's coming. Germany and America are completely different worlds, and Stanford isn't just any university. It's a place where personal connections can make as much of a difference as your grades."
I rolled my eyes, even though I knew she couldn't see me. My mother had an almost compulsive obsession with social connections and strategic relationships, something she'd inherited from my father. But me… well, I preferred to focus on what really mattered: my career. Friends? Irrelevant. A girlfriend? I didn't even consider it necessary.
"I understand, Mother," I responded dryly, crossing my arms. "I'll go to class, do my projects, and get excellent results. I don't need to surround myself with superficial people to achieve my goals."
She paused briefly before continuing, her voice adopting a sweeter tone, as if trying to soften a rock with words.
"But, Sebastian… Having friends doesn't mean wasting your time. It can make the experience more bearable. And besides, maybe you'll meet someone special. At your age, it's normal to start thinking about that."
This time, I couldn't help but let out a mocking laugh.
"Someone special? Mother, I'm eighteen years old. I don't need distractions with teenage romances or sentimental nonsense. My goal here is to study biomedical engineering, not look for dates on a mobile app."
I heard another sigh, this one longer and more dramatic. It was clear that my mother was already tired of discussing this topic with me. However, she kept trying because that's who she was: persistent to the extreme.
"Alright, Sebastian," she finally said, resigned. "Just promise me you'll at least try to be open to new experiences. Not everything in life is about numbers and academic results. Sometimes, people can surprise you."
"Sure, Mother," I replied, feigning interest. "I promise I'll try. But don't expect miracles."
After a few more minutes of forced conversation, I hung up the phone and placed it on the table in front of me. I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes for a moment. The constant hum of the plane's engines was soothing, but my mind kept circling around the same thoughts. I knew my mother had good intentions, but I also knew I wasn't like the other students who would probably arrive at Stanford looking for parties, clubs, and shallow friendships. I had a clear purpose: to excel in my field and become the best biomedical engineer possible.
When the plane landed at the private airport near San Francisco, I was greeted by a chauffeur impeccably dressed in a black suit, holding a sign with my name written in golden letters. I stepped off the plane with firm strides, carrying only a carry-on suitcase and a backpack. I wore an elegant sporty outfit: a dark gray modern-cut jacket, a fitted white T-shirt, lightweight black pants, and minimalist white sneakers. My sunglasses completed the look, giving me a sophisticated air that, according to many, made me appear older than I actually was.
"Welcome, Mr. Reinhardt," the chauffeur said, bowing slightly as he took my suitcase. "Your transportation awaits."
I nodded briefly and followed the man to a black Rolls Royce Phantom that gleamed under the afternoon sun. I got into the vehicle without a word, enjoying the silence offered by the luxurious interior. During the ride to Stanford, I observed through the window as the landscape gradually shifted from urbanized areas to more open fields and green spaces. The campus came into view after a few minutes, and although I wouldn't admit it aloud, I was impressed by the magnitude and beauty of the place.
Upon arrival, I immediately headed to the main building to complete the enrollment process. There was a crowd of new students moving back and forth, some laughing nervously, others chatting animatedly about their expectations for the quarter. In every corner, there were stands decorated with vibrant colors advertising different clubs and extracurricular activities. A group of girls tried to catch my attention with shiny flyers and rehearsed smiles, but I simply gave them a cold look and kept walking. I didn't need distractions or to belong to a club that wouldn't add real value to my résumé.
Finally, after half an hour of paperwork and signatures, I received the key to my room. I had specifically requested a single room, arguing that I preferred silence to concentrate on my studies. No one had objected, probably because my family had made a generous donation to the university's scholarship fund.
My room was located in one of the most exclusive residence halls on campus, a modern building with large windows and designer furniture. I dropped my luggage on the floor and took a quick glance around the space. It was spacious and functional, exactly what I needed. However, something compelled me to step out again. Perhaps it was curiosity, or maybe I simply wanted to explore the place before daily routines began.
I walked aimlessly, observing how the students interacted with each other. Some were playing frisbee on the lawns, others studying under the trees, and a small group organizing an impromptu giant chess competition. Everyone seemed so… happy. So carefree. I didn't understand how they could prioritize leisure when they had significant academic responsibilities.
As I moved forward, I noticed several people stealing glances at me. It was probably my upright posture and impassive expression that caught their attention. I didn't care. The truth was, I wasn't interested in socializing or being part of the collective energy that seemed to flood the campus.
I decided I needed some coffee. I'd spent hours on paperwork and hadn't had a drop of caffeine yet. As I headed toward a café I'd seen when entering the campus, I passed by another university club stand. This time, however, something caught my attention. It was a group that organized scientific debates, and its members were displaying brochures with complex topics related to biomedicine.
Maybe I could join something like this , I thought fleetingly. Just in name, of course. It would be a way to appease my mother if she ever insists again that I need to have a "social life." It wouldn't be hard to be listed as a member without actually participating. After all, I don't have time for real commitments.