I can tell she wants to keep fighting me on this but she doesn’t.
She just shakes her head, muttering something under her breath before reopening her laptop.
For once, Delilah doesn't argue just to argue. Once we actually start reading through the project brief, she's focused. Efficient. Sharp as hell. And, annoyingly, I kind of like that. It's fucking hot. And she respects my ideas, listens. She doesn't seem to just dismiss me as a dumb jock.
She takes notes at lightning speed, highlighting key points, already breaking down how we should split the workload.
“Okay,” she says, pulling up a shared document. “We need to decide on our approach to the toilet block before next week, but we don't have to finalize anything yet.”
“Cool. What are we thinking?”
She tilts her laptop toward me. “The competition has that broad sustainability focus—'Reimagine the D4 toilet block area as a space that benefits both our campus community and our planet.' We have two main options: either a conservative retrofitting project—maintaining most of the existing structure but modernizing it, or a more ambitious complete redesign.”
“What about something in between?” I say, leaning in. “Keep the foundation and some of the structure, but completely reimagine what the space is for.”
She nods, but I notice she's chewing her bottom lip—something she does when she's not convinced. “It's a possibility. But this competition is going to be fierce. Every team is going to pitch some variation of a sustainable hangout space with solar panels and recycled materials.”
“So we need to stand out,” I offer.
“Exactly. And I'm not sure a hybrid approach is enough.” She taps her pen against her notebook rapidly. “We need something revolutionary, not just 'good enough.'“
I sit back, watching her. “You're really worried about this, aren't you?”
Her eyes snap to mine. “Of course, I am. Aren't you? This isn't just another class project, Troy. It's—” She stops herself, then exhales. “Never mind.”
“No, tell me.”
She shakes her head, staring down at her notes. “It's...complicated. But I need to win this competition.”
“Need to?”
“Want to,” she corrects herself quickly. “Whatever. The point is, a mediocre idea won't cut it.”
I lean forward. “Alright, so what makes something not mediocre? What would make the judges sit up and take notice?”
She's quiet for a moment, thinking. “What if—instead of just making it sustainable—we actually made it regenerative?”
“Regenerative?”
“A space that doesn't just reduce harm but actively improves its surroundings.” Her eyes start to light up now. “What if we designed it to actually clean the air, purify runoff water, generate excess energy that feeds back into the campus grid, and produces food?”
I whistle low. “That's ambitious.”
“Exactly.” Her excitement falters slightly. “Maybe too ambitious for the budget and timeline.”
“No, I like it,” I say quickly. “It's a challenge, but that's what makes it worth doing.” I tap my finger on the table. “We could integrate vertical farming elements, rainwater harvesting that filters through a living bio-system before returning to the groundwater, piezoelectric tiles that generate power when people walk on them...”
She looks at me for a long moment, like she's seeing something new. “You're...actually into this.”
“Hell yeah, I am. Why do you sound surprised?”
“I just thought...” She shrugs. “I didn't think you'd care this much.”
“About winning? Of course, I care.”
“No, about the actual design. The sustainability aspect.”
I feel my defenses rise. “What, you think I'm just some jock who doesn't give a shit about the environment?”
