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The lonely months spent studying keep passing me by. I am working on my master’s degree, and at the same time… I am teaching students.
This year, for the first time, I am leading classes for the younger cohorts. Before this, I was only a tutor who sometimes helped check assignments and tests, but I never had to stand in front of an entire room full of students, so for the first few months I feel almost constant stage fright every single day when I have to pass knowledge on to young people who watch me with their attentive eyes.
Before every lecture I prepare obsessively, everything is precisely planned, and I try to deliver each portion of material in a clear and understandable way, making sure every student can follow what I am saying. Eventually, after a few months, I manage to develop a steady routine and teaching stops being such a huge source of stress.
Soon after the start of the new semester, the date for my meeting with Blue Lowen arrives.
I cannot hide how stressed I am. I don’t know how he will react to me, whether he will throw me out, laugh in my face, or simply deliver bad news.
For the occasion, I take a day off from college.
My appointment is scheduled for eleven. I reach the Malden Pharmaceuticals headquarters, since the company’s main office is located in our city, near the coast, and this is where their largest commercial division focused on genetic research operates.
I arrive by Uber, get out, and cross the enormous parking lot. I enter the building’s lobby and head to reception, from where I am redirected to a separate internal check-in-desk on the seventh floor, the entrance to the entire genetics department.
My stomach twists with nerves when the receptionist tells me that Dr. Lowen will see me shortly.
It is happening. I am stepping onto a path that, however naïve it might be, I believe could lead me back to Bay.
What is interesting is that to reach this floor I have to pass through a metal detector. I have no idea why that’s even necessary, but I simply accept it.
I am eventually guided down a long corridor that ends at Blue Lowen’s office.
The moment I enter, I am almost trembling.
Blue Lowen sits behind a wide, semi-circular desk that effectively separates me from him.
The office is large and elegantly furnished. The consultation cost me nearly all of my savings. He does not price an hour of his valuable time cheaply. Well, a conversation with a genius can’t be free.
From what I know, he sees only a handful of people each week, since he primarily focuses on research, which explains the six-month wait for an appointment.
With unsteady steps I approach the chair set directly across from his desk, positioned at a deliberate distance.
I ease into it slowly and mumble a soft "good morning."
Blue is almost exactly my height, with a very similar slight build. He wears electronic glasses with tiny LEDs glimmering along the edges of the frames. His straight navy-blue hair falls to his shoulders in razor-sharp lines, but our greatest resemblance lies in our faces.
If I ever doubted whether my dad told the truth about my biological father, it would be hard to hold on to that doubt while looking at Blue.
We are almost like brothers, especially since he absolutely does not look thirty-seven.
He looks twenty-five at most, if not younger. Of course he likely has access to the latest genetic rejuvenation therapies, which should not surprise me, yet the resemblance is so striking that for a moment I can only stare at him.
We have the same eye shape, though mine are amethyst and his sapphire, the same brows, nose, mouth, an almost unsettling similarity. But that is definitely not the topic I want to start with.
"What brings you to me, Mr. Strada?"
For the first time, that surname irritates me. It belongs to the man who was married to my dad. It isn’t even my dad’s own family name. My real surname should be Lowen, and the one in my documents is actually… Nolan. But, following what Bay and I agreed on, I don’t use it in my daily life.
"A genetics consultation," I say after clearing my throat. "I wanted to ask for guidance, to look for information or suggestions. Is there any possible way for two strongly incompatible people to become compatible?"
I notice a faint shadow of interest in his sapphire eyes.
He straightens slightly and leans back.
"Officially, science states that such a possibility does not exist. It would require rewriting the individual’s genetic code and also influencing their personality." His voice is calm. Fascinating, how even his voice resembles mine. He speaks in a rather stiff manner, as if fully aware of his role as an expert, carefully choosing his words and presenting everything to sound professional, even though I get the impression this isn’t his usual style.
