“You look like you won a prize,” Ellie said, not looking up from her laptop.

It was a small, sacred loophole. Show your student ID at the box office of the Royal Alexandra, the Princess of Wales, or the CAA Ed Mirvish Theatre, and suddenly a $150 orchestra seat became $39. Still not nothing—but possible, if you skipped lunch for a week. Leo had built a whole secret religion around it. He saw Come From Away twice, Hamilton once (standing room only, but he didn’t care), and a strange, brilliant one-man show about a beekeeper that made him cry in the dark.

That’s where the Mirvish student discount came in.

Then one Friday, he found himself with an extra $40 and no shift. He went to the box office at the Royal Alex. The same woman was there—Marlene, who always remembered his name.

Instead, he walked to the university library and studied for his midterms. He didn’t buy a ticket. Not that week, or the next. Ellie didn’t say “I told you so.” She just left a cup of coffee on his desk one morning with a sticky note that said: Stage lights don’t run on dreams alone.

Ellie finally looked at him. Her expression was softer than usual. “Leo, you told me last week you couldn’t afford your textbook for Directing II.”