“I guess what I’m saying is… these books aren’t just escapism. They’re a vision. They’re written by women who know what it’s like in these fields. Women who have been silenced, dismissed, underestimated—and stilldream anyway. These stories are the hypothesis. What if scientific brilliance and emotional honesty weren’t mutually exclusive? What if women in STEM didn’t have to compartmentalize themselves to be taken seriously? What if respect, desire, and intellectual admiration could live in the same room?”
I gesture toward the stack. “They’re not fantasies. They’re blueprints. They’re what itcouldlook like. What itshouldlook like.”
She sits back in her chair, visibly taken aback, and looks at me. Then at the stack of books, then back again. Her expression softens—less startled now, more amused—and she lets out a small, breathy laugh that seems to say,Well, I didn’t see that coming.
I smile, because neither did I.
I lean forward, my voice steady despite the emotion swelling under my skin. “Dr. Kymbert,” I say, and I can feel the edges of my smile tugging at my cheeks. “I would love nothing more than to be a part of your team. I’ve dreamed of a chance like this for so long.”
Her gaze is warm now. Clear. The kind of look that saysI see you,from one woman who’s carved her place in science to another trying to do the same.
But I’m not finished. Not yet.
“But I cannot—will not—compartmentalize myself to fit into someone else’s definition of credibility,” I continue, my voice threading tighter. “I want to be all of it. A scientist. A thinker. A woman in love, if that’s what I choose. I want to be the full equation, not the sum of acceptable parts.”
She doesn’t interrupt. Just runs her fingers down the spines of the books like she’s tracing something far more meaningful—possibility, maybe. A future she never allowed herself to imagine.
“You know, Coralie,” she says quietly, “I had a feeling you were one of a kind when your tutor emailed us every day for two weeks, demanding someone look at your independent research.”
I blink, surprised. I hadn’t known she knew about that.
“We get recommendations all the time,” she adds. “Most get lost in the shuffle. But yours… yours was relentless. And it turns out, you’ve earned every word of it. Every single day since.”
I open my mouth to speak, but she lifts a hand, stopping me with that same quiet authority I’ve always admired.
“I’ll be honest,” she says. “I’m wary. Not of your talent—but of the weight this path might put on your shoulders. I’ve never had the courage to step outside the boundaries I was taught to survive within. Especially when it came to the personal bleeding into the professional. But if anyone can redraw the map...” She smiles. “It’s you.”
A tear slips down before I can stop it. But I don’t reach for it. I don’t flinch.
Because maybe strength isn’t the absence of emotion. Maybe it’s letting someone see that you feel deeply—and refusing to apologize for it.
And for the first time, I think she sees that in me too.
She welcomes me onto the project with open arms, and I thank her—for hearing me out, for being a sounding board or, at the very least, for trusting me to weather the storms that might come my way.
Then I sign the papers. In four weeks, I’ll officially join her research team. Just like that—pen to paper, pressure to potential.
As I click the pen shut and slide the forms back across her desk, her expression shifts. A glint of mischief replaces her usual scholarly calm, and she leans back with a grin that makes her look ten years younger.
“Miss Taylor,” she says, voice lilting, playful. “Now that we’ve handled all the research talk and academic gravitas... do tell me—who’s the man that’s made all this trouble worth it?”
I laugh, caught off guard by the directness. “I’m no stranger to trouble,” I say.
She lifts a brow, entirely unconvinced. “I don’t doubt that. But I know you didn’t come in here armed with a romantic trilogyfor nothing. So really—what was it in Mr. Wilkes that caught the attention of a brain as sharp as yours?”
I pretend to gasp, but it’s all show now. There’s no need to hide. Not in this office. Not after what we’ve just shared. Not after being seen, and still chosen.
“He’s…” I pause, then smile. “He’s never needed me to be anything but exactly who I was, at every stage I was ready to give it.”
And it’s true. Holden has stood still through every version of me since I arrived. From the wide-eyed girl still homesick for Nova Scotia, to the stubborn one challenging his critiques. The restless, overthinking student. The one who rambled about cephalopods and couldn’t look grief in the eye. The girl who kissed him under salt-thick air and tried not to regret it. He held steady, even when I couldn’t.
Maybe I’ve been one of the storms he spent years trying to understand—shifting, complex, impossible to measure in absolutes.
Dr. Kymbert nods thoughtfully. “Seems like a good man, then.”
I gather my tote and rise from the chair, smoothing the edge of my skirt. I glance back and give her a knowing wink. “You picked a good TA.”
“I suspected that long before he did,” she says, and we both laugh.
