Chapter 1

The day my supervisor scolds me relentlessly, his son happens to arrive to deliver a meal.

He stands six feet one inch tall, wearing a crisp white shirt and gold-rimmed glasses while holding a thermal lunch box in his hand.

Although tears are still hanging on my face, I am already calculating in my mind that I want this man.

However, I do not expect that he will be the one to fall in love first.

Later, when my supervisor sees my hand firmly interlocked with his son's, his face turns completely livid.

"When do you two get involved with each other?" he splutters.

*****

Honestly, I never imagined grad school would leave me in such a mess.

The silence in the office that afternoon was oppressive. My advisor, John Carter, was flipping through my thesis draft with a rhythmic, aggressive snap of the pages. With every turn, my heart climbed an inch higher into my throat.

"Look at this introduction," he said, spinning the manuscript around and stabbing his finger at the first page. "What is this, 'with the progress of modern civilization'?

"Who on earth still starts a paper like this? Did you run your plagiarism check against a database of elementary school essays?"

I kept my head low, staring at the polished floor until it blurred, feeling completely defeated.

"And here," he continued, flipping forward a few more pages. "The literature review. Tell me, what exactly is this? You think copying and pasting abstracts counts as a review?

"Author A says this, and Author B says that. Where are you in all of this? Where is your actual perspective?"

I didn't dare utter a word.

His voice rose several decibels. "And this conclusion. Three paragraphs? You think three paragraphs are enough to graduate?

"You realize your research actually needs to lead somewhere, right? Right now, you're all start and no finish. Actually, you haven't even gotten far enough to have a finish!"

As John reached the peak of his tirade, the office door creaked open a fraction. Someone peeked in for a split second before vanishing quickly.

I swallowed hard.

John slammed the draft onto the desk, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and leaned back into his chair to deliver the final blow.

"Julia Hall, where do I even begin with you? You are in your second year, and your proposal is due any moment. But you hand me this? The logic is so fragmented that...

"Let me put it this way. It is more chaotic than my three-year-old nephew's finger paintings.

"At least when he draws, I can tell he is attempting to draw a human being. After reading this thesis, I have no idea what you are even trying to say."

At that, a sharp sting pricked my nose.

"Enough. Take it back and rewrite it," John muttered and pushed the papers toward me, waving his hand dismissively. "Go back and think long and hard about what you are researching, why it matters, how you intend to do it, and what the result is.

"If you cannot answer those four questions, do not bother coming back to see me."

My hands were shaking as I reached for the manuscript.

Just then, there were two light knocks on the door.

"Dad, lunch is ready."

I looked up instinctively.

Standing in the doorway was a young man.

He wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the fluid lines of his forearms. He was tall, likely six-foot-two or more, and as he stood in the threshold, the top of his head nearly brushed the doorframe.

Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes were strikingly clear, defined by sharp, elegant lines that tapered upward at the corners.

Holding a light gray insulated bag, he stood bathed in the afternoon sunlight, looking like a protagonist stepped straight out of a cinematic romance.

Tears were still clinging to my lashes, but my brain had completely stalled.

John gave a distracted grunt and waved him off. "Just leave it there."

The young man stepped inside and placed the bag on the desk. His gaze swept over my face, pausing for a heartbeat before shifting away. It was a fleeting glance, but I was certain he saw my tears.

My face flushed a deep, burning red.

"This is Julia, my student," John introduced me with a tone of sheer exasperation. "Her thesis is an absolute disaster."

In that moment, I wished the floor would simply open up and swallow me whole.

The young man glanced at me again, and the corner of his mouth quirked upward as if he were fighting back a smile. He didn't speak, merely offering a small nod before turning and walking out.

The moment the door closed, I heard John sigh. "You see him? That is my son. He is doing his PhD at the university next door and is three years older than you.

"If you had half his aptitude, I would not have to lose sleep over your work."

His son? A PhD student? Three years older? Those keywords looped in my mind until something clicked.

John was still grumbling about the lack of foundational skills in modern students, but I stopped listening. My mind was racing, and a plan was rapidly taking shape.

Rewriting the thesis? Who should I ask for help? Someone with high-level skills. And where was that person?

The man in the white shirt and gold glasses was a ready-made solution. The university next door was one of the top institutions in the country. As for how to convince him to help me, I should find a way.

"Mr. Carter," I interrupted John's rant in a low voice. "That was your son, right? What is his name?"

John looked at me with deep suspicion. "Why are you asking?"

"Oh, no reason," I said, waving my hand and flashing a docile smile. "I just thought he had a very scholarly aura. He looks like a true academic."

John huffed. "Andrew Carter. Physics department. He is a few years ahead of you. Actually, if he is three years older, he is likely three cohorts ahead."

Even the name sounded elegant.

I silently committed the name to memory, clutched the thesis to my chest, and stood up to bow. "I will go back and work on the revisions, Mr. Carter. I will find you once I am finished."

John waved me away like a fly.

As I stepped out of the office, I looked back at the insulated bag on the desk. It was a clean white with a logo I didn't recognize. I pulled out my phone and discreetly snapped a photo.

A logo was all I needed. I could find the shop online. Since Andrew was the one delivering lunch to his father, he must be a regular there.

I could stake out the location, engineer a chance encounter, and then...

No, I was getting ahead of myself. The immediate priority was figuring out how to approach him.