Chapter 3
I looked down at the new contact in my phone and nodded firmly.
"Julia, I have to admit, you actually have some moves," Mia said with a hint of respect.
I beamed with pride. But the smile didn't last long.
When I sent him my paper that night, I took a quick scroll through his IG feed. It was empty. His profile picture was just a shot of the starry night sky, and his bio was only three words: [Physics PhD Candidate.]
That was it?
I stared at that starry sky for a long time, trying to analyze his personality, hobbies, and relationship status from a photo of space. Eventually, I gave up. Adding him was a victory in itself.
For the next few days, I waited for a reply.
The first day passed without a word. The second day brought more radio silence. By the time the third day rolled around, I started to suspect he might have removed me from his contacts.
On the fourth day, I couldn't take it anymore and sent a message: [Andrew, did you receive the thesis?]
The status changed to "Delivered." I hadn't been blacklisted after all. So I could finally breathe again."
Two hours later, he replied: [I read the first three pages. There are indeed quite a few problems.]
I clutched my phone, nearly leaping off my bed. He actually replied.
Fighting back the adrenaline, I texted: [Omg. What do I even do now?]
He replied: [Are you free tomorrow afternoon? It is easier to explain in person than to type it all out.]
In fact, I had a class tomorrow afternoon.
But I replied without a second thought: [Yes!]
He responded: [Three o'clock, then. The third-floor discussion area of your library?]
I texted: [Deal.]
After putting the phone down, I rolled around on my bed in a state of euphoria.
Mia looked at me and shook her head. "Julia, you are beyond saving."
"I know," I replied, hugging my phone and grinning like an idiot. "But I don't mind."
The following afternoon, I arrived at the third floor of the library exactly on time. The discussion area was tucked away in a corner, a semi-open space with a few tables and whiteboards.
When I arrived, Andrew was already there. A laptop was open in front of him, with a cup of coffee sitting beside it. He was wearing a deep blue hoodie today, which made him look more approachable and bright.
I walked up to him and whispered, "I'm here."
He looked up, glanced at me, and pushed the laptop slightly to the side. "Sit."
I sat opposite him, feeling a strange, fluttering nervousness. He turned the screen toward me. My thesis was there, now covered in multicolored annotations and comments.
"You wrote this?" he asked.
"Yeah," I replied.
"The introduction, paragraphs one through three, can basically be deleted," he said in a calm, steady tone, pointing at the screen. "They have nothing to do with your actual research question.
"You are studying 'Urban Spaces in 90s Women's Literature,' but your introduction spends pages talking about 'The Process of Urbanization.' That is background knowledge, not a thesis argument."
I listened intently.
"Then there is your literature review," he continued. "You cited a dozen papers, but you are just listing them. There is no synthesis.
"You need to tell the reader what these studies have in common, where they diverge, and exactly where your research fits into that gap. None of that is here."
I nodded silently.
He scrolled down. "And look here. Your conclusion for chapter three can actually be merged with chapter four because you are discussing the same problem. Splitting them makes it look like you are just trying to pad the word count."
"Wait," I interrupted, looking confused. "How do you know I was padding the word count?"
He glanced at me, a small smile playing on his lips. "Because I have done it too."
I let out a sudden giggle. The atmosphere shifted instantly, becoming much lighter.
For the next hour, he walked me through the entire paper, pointing out dozens of issues, both large and small. I had to admit, his way of thinking was incredibly clear. Things that had confused me for months became obvious the moment he explained them.
"That should cover it," he said, finally closing the laptop and leaning back. "Rewrite it following this logic, and you should be fine."
I looked at him and felt a sudden, strange daze. The setting sun filtered through the window, casting a soft, golden glow across half of his face. His eyelashes were long, casting a delicate shadow on his skin.
He looked so relaxed, as if helping me with my paper was the most natural thing in the world.
"What is it?" he asked, noticing my gaze.
I exclaimed, "Nothing. I just think you are amazing."
I quickly looked away. He didn't respond, but he smiled.
As I gathered my things to leave, I remembered something. "Oh, Andrew."
I pulled a small bag of cookies from my bag and placed them in front of him. "I know you like cookies. I made these at the bakery this morning. Want to try some?"
He paused, looking down at the cookies and then back up at me. "What is this supposed to mean?"
"It is a thank you," I said earnestly. "You spent so much time on my paper. I had to show my appreciation."
He was silent for two seconds, then reached out, opened the bag, and ate one. I watched him with bated breath.
He nodded. "They are good. Then I won't be modest. I actually skipped lunch."
He took another one.
I rested my chin in my hand, watching him with a heart full of sweetness. Then, he suddenly looked up. "How do you know I like cookies?"
My heart skipped a beat. I had slipped up. "Um, I guessed," I stammered.
He looked at me, his eyes searching mine. I quickly changed the subject. "By the way, what else do you like? I'll bring you something else next time."
His hand paused with a cookie halfway to his mouth. He didn't answer. But I noticed that the tips of his ears had turned a subtle shade of red.
After that day, I expected him to find an excuse to stop meeting me. After all, a random underclassmate knowing his favorite snacks was a bit suspicious.
But he didn't.