I pause, wondering if that sounded dramatic. It felt dramatic at the time.
His reply comes fast.
King:
Moving 45 minutes away for more school? Watch out, we’ve got a real outlaw on our hands.
I laugh again, this time softer, smiling despite myself.
Ivy:
It felt like a big deal at the time! My parents were disappointed I didn't choose neurosurgery. Biomechanics was "too niche" for them.
That word still stings more than I like to admit.
There’s a beat before his response, long enough that I wonder if I overshared.
King:
Well, for what it's worth, I think the "niche" thing suits you. Most people are boring. You're... scientifically interesting.
My chest warms in a way that catches me off guard.
I glow at my phone like an idiot.
I mean, I know I’m interesting. Sloane knows I’m interesting. My work is endlessly fascinating to me. But to most people—especially my parents—it’s just something they tolerate politely before changing the subject.
And here’s this man I’ve never met, calling it interesting. Calling me interesting.
I tuck my knees closer to my chest on the couch, fingers hovering over the keyboard, suddenly very aware that this conversation feels… different. I can’t remember the last time anyone made me feel like that just by listening.
Ivy:
Can I ask you something slightly random?
I stare at the screen for half a second, suddenly weirdly nervous. Why do I care what he thinks?
King:
Go for it.
Okay. Here goes.
Ivy:
Why do you call yourself King?
The reply comes quickly, like he didn’t have to think about it.
King:
It’s an old nickname from high school.
I smile to myself. Of course it is.
Ivy:
Of course it is. Was it self-appointed or did other people start it?
