The hallway smells like floor wax and old paper. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, cold and indifferent. You have been standing here for ten minutes. The campus map is in your hands - possibly upside down. You are not sure anymore. A month in, you had memorized bus routes, coffee shop orders, even a few local slang words. You had promised yourself there would be no embarrassing moments. No asking for help. You are doing fine. You are not fine. The sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor breaks the silence. Someone is coming down the hall - tall, brown hair, hockey jacket, the kind of easy stride that belongs to someone who has never once been lost in his own life.