He shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “I mean… yeah, it feels a little dramatic. She could have refused to marry Paris, told her parents the truth, run away—”
“Run away?” I cut him off, and his smile falls instantly. Interesting. Guess he’s not used to people treating him like he’s anything less than the center of the universe. “She's a fourteen-year-old girl in Renaissance Italy with no money and no support system. Where exactly is she going to run? She'd be assaulted or killed before she made it out of Verona. That's not a real option.”
He pauses, then drags his hand through his damp hair, sending a little sprinkle of shower droplets flying. One lands on my laptop. I glare; he has the audacity to smirk.
“Okay, but she could have told her parents—”
“That she secretly married their enemy's son?” I counter. “Her father would disown her at best, lock her up at worst. Maybe even kill Romeo.” I lean forward. He mirrors me without realizing it. “She didn't choose the potion plan because she's dramatic. She chose it because it was literally her only option that didn't end in forced marriage or death.”
He taps his pen again—faster this time. Thinking.
“She still made a choice, though.”
“Between terrible options created by external forces she didn't control. That's not real agency.”
He frowns, brows drawing together, and shifts his chair closer as though the proximity will help him win this debate.
“Okay, but what about Romeo killing Tybalt? That's a clear choice driven by rage.”
“Is it?” I challenge.
He lifts his chin, competitive spark in those stupid blue eyes. “Tybalt killed his best friend. Romeo reacts. That’s choice.”
“Tybalt just killed his best friend,” I emphasize. “In Verona’s honor culture, if Romeo doesn’t fight back, he’s labeled a coward—and Tybalt still gets away with murder. The society literally gives him no acceptable alternative.”
“But he could have walked away—”
“Easy for you to say 'walk away' when you've never had to choose between your honor and your safety.” I shake my head.
Something flickers across his face. “What's that supposed to mean?”
Shit. Too personal. Way too personal.
“Nothing. I just mean—you can't judge their choices without understanding the constraints they lived under.”
“I'm not judging them. I'm saying they made active decisions that led to their deaths. Romeo chooses to crash the Capulet party, knowing it's dangerous. Juliet chooses to kiss him back, knowing he's a Montague. They choose to marry in secret instead of trying to reconcile their families. Those are all active choices.”
“Made within a prison of external forces,” I counter. “The family feud they didn't start, the honor culture they didn't create, the patriarchal society that treats Juliet like property—”
“So you think they're completely powerless? Just victims with no agency at all?”
“I think their agency is so constrained by external forces that the outcome is inevitable regardless of what they choose.” I meet his eyes. “They could make all the 'right' choices and still lose. That's what makes it a tragedy.”
He's quiet for a moment. “You know, for someone arguing that external forces control everything, you seem pretty determined to fight them.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Theater major. Some job with crazy hours. I’m guessing you want to be an actress, right?”
I don’t answer, which is enough for him.
“That’s one of the hardest professions to break into, and yet, here you are, still doing it. You're choosing to fight the odds, not accepting them.”
“That's different—”
“Is it?” He leans forward. “Or are you provingyour own argument wrong? Maybe agency matters more than you think.”
“Or maybe I'm proving that even when you fight, the external forces still win.” The words come out more bitter than I intended.
