And hooking up within your very tiny degree program where there’s no escape if things go bad?
Not smart.
And they’re both smart.
Very smart.
Maybe too smart sometimes.
So they never did and then a few months ago he pulled away, big time. Their weekly study sessions routinely cancelled until they were never scheduled in the first place, semi-regular coffee meetups becoming nonexistent. She can’t even remember the last time she saw him outside of class.
He was busy.
They both were.
And now, they’re done.
She defended her thesis today.
His defense is early next week.
And that’s that.
He’ll move on to whatever adventure awaits him in whatever country that needs his help getting their native artifacts back.
And as for her?
She interviewed for her dream job a few weeks ago and has a second interview in a couple of days. But even if it doesn’t work out, she knows what kind of career she wants, knows where her skills are most needed. She’s not sure if anyone is going to let her actually do it.
How do you convince an entire system, all of academia, that they need to change and change quickly or they’re going to lose another generation to misinformation?
It’s too big a problem for any one person to solve, she knows that, but it doesn’t mean she isn’t going to try.
At least, she will once she stops these fucking tears from falling.
“Offended? What? Why?” she asks, to try and distract herself.
“You invited me.”
“I did? When?”
“At the beginning of the semester? You told me that you were scheduling a post-defense party because you were going to manifest passing your defense months in advance.”
She remembers now. She’d been a nervous wreck as they approached the final semester of her academic career and she had been doing everything she could think of to trick herself into calming the hell down.
“Oh, that’s right. Sorry, I . . .”
“Do you . . . do you want me to go?” he asks. “I know we haven’t seen a lot of each other in the past couple of months but, yeah, I’ll just – go.”
He’s letting out a huff of what’s probably self-deprecating laughter and already shifting around her and starting for the door.
“No, wait,” Bianca says, reaching out for him; just a tap of her fingers against his forearm is enough to stop his retreat. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been a mess and my brain is complete mush, but obviously I want you to stay.”
“Obviously?”
Bianca rolls her eyes, tears gone now, at least for the moment. “Yes, obviously.”
“So,” Xavier says with a smile, “are we just going to stand here or am I finally going to meet your friends?”
