I was too chicken to ask my advisor directly for my money. So, I decided to be passive-aggressive and drop a hint. I drafted a text: 【Mom, I’m not coming home for winter break. My living expenses are gone, my credit cards are maxed out, Boyfriend starved to death, and my stipend still hasn’t hit. Professor probably forgot again. I’ll just rot on campus.】 I hit send. My advisor replied instantly: 【?】 Panic set in. I scrambled to explain: 【Sorry Professor! Wrong person! Ignore that!】 Advisor: 【Your boyfriend died?】 Advisor: 【Understood. I’ll send you a boyfriend this afternoon.】 Me: ??? 1 They said the research stipend would hit at the start of the month. Winter break was practically here, and my bank account was still hearing crickets. I was spiraling. My advisor, Professor Miller, is a man in his sixties. Great mind, terrible memory. I could figure it out with my pinky toe: he definitely forgot to submit the paperwork to finance again. Usually, it wouldn't matter. If he forgot one month, he’d double it up the next. But this was different. The semester was ending. That meant the finance office was about to close for the holidays. If I didn't get paid now, I’d be waiting two months for that meager—but absolutely necessary—allowance. I couldn't survive that. I was banking on that $1,200 to have a somewhat dignified winter break. I needed to remind him. Now. But I didn't dare ask directly. Why? Because just yesterday, I sent him the first draft of my thesis. Immediately after hitting send, I shoved my phone into my roommate's laundry pile and ran screaming laps around the dorm. I knew it was garbage. Sending it felt like knowingly throwing a bucket of sludge into his face. Sure enough, he replied: "Harper, shake your head and tell me if you hear the ocean. Because there’s clearly nothing else in there." I didn't get it at first, but I obeyed. Then I realized he was calling me an airhead. "Next time write more. The comedy section wasn't long enough." Me: "..." And just like that, the bridge was burned. "Sigh. I knew the day I accepted you as a grad student, I’d have to learn to let go of my expectations." I looked up at the ceiling and smiled peacefully. If I could teach a tenured professor the art of letting go, maybe my thesis wasn't completely worthless. Seconds later, his call came through. He roasted me until his wife yelled at him to cook dinner. He finally hung up with a war cry: "Harper! Just wait until next week's group meeting!" So, yeah. After that dumpster fire, how could I ask him for money today? But after a fierce mental battle, I decided my dignity weighed less than my rent. Professor Miller might have beef with me, but I couldn't have beef with my bank account. I couldn't be direct. I had to be subtle. I was brainstorming "high EQ" ways to ask when my mom texted: "Honey, when does break start?" A lightbulb went off. I furiously typed a response meant for her, but "accidentally" sent it to him. 【Mom, I’m not coming home for winter break. My living expenses are gone, my credit cards are maxed out, Boyfriend starved to death, and my stipend still hasn’t hit. Professor probably forgot again. I’ll just rot on campus.】 Copy. Open Professor Miller’s chat. Paste. Before I could chicken out, I hit send. Then I rubbed my hands together, waiting like a gremlin for a reply. I had never looked forward to a text from him so much. One minute later. Professor Miller: 【?】 I reacted with lightning speed, "un-sending" nothing, just typing: "Omg sorry Professor! Wrong person! Please pretend you didn't see that!" "I saw the whole thing." Yes! I mentally high-fived myself. I could practically see that $1,200 riding a rainbow cloud to save my winter break. Genius. Harper, you are a debt-collecting prodigy! Then, the next text came through: "Your boyfriend died?" Me: ? "Understood. Boyfriend arrives this afternoon." 2 I petrified instantly. What? Why are we focusing on the wrong details? And... Boyfriend died... was that really the takeaway here?! In that text, only "stipend hasn't hit" and "Professor forgot" were facts. The rest was creative writing! He usually picks apart my thesis logic with laser precision; I refused to believe he didn't get the hint! If he asks about the money, I get paid. But now he’s playing dumb? What was I supposed to do? AI chat bots were no help; they just told me to "communicate openly." Useless. I lay on my dorm bed, disappointed and broke, punching the mattress in frustration. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. You want to play abstract games? Fine. I can get abstract. I grabbed my phone and replied: "Okay! Since Boyfriend died, I’ll happily accept the new boyfriend you’re sending. Hope I receive him this afternoon [Expectant Eyes] [Shy] [Rose] Thanks Prof~" Radio silence. Heh. Crazy old man. Out of moves, aren't you? There was no way he was going to send me a human man instead of a wire transfer. I ate a massive bowl of pasta for lunch. Too many carbs. I slipped into a food coma. Wrapped in my duvet, I passed out. I slept until the sky turned dark. I wasn't woken up by nature, or the smell of my roommate’s takeout. I was woken up by my phone vibrating off the nightstand. Professor Miller. I saw twenty missed calls. Thinking he had recharged his energy to roast my thesis again, I did some deep breathing exercises before answering. "Hello? Harper, where have you been? Why aren't you picking up?" "Haha, sorry Professor, I was just revising..." "Revising what? That pile of trash needs a rewrite, but don't touch it yet. Come to the Steakhouse just off campus." "..." I thought he needed me to bring him a hard drive or something. I yawned. "The data drive is with Sarah." "I know. Just bring yourself. Free steak, you coming or not?" I was confused. But when it comes to free food, I am an elite athlete. And if Miller is paying, we order the ribeye, not the salad. I had to eat back the value of the stipend he owed me! I threw on a puffer jacket, finger-combed my messy hair, shoved my glasses on my unwashed face, and stepped into my fleece-lined Crocs. I grabbed a campus scooter with a crooked handle and dodgy brakes and sped toward the restaurant. I looked a little feral, but it didn't matter. I didn't need to look hot for Professor Miller. Writing a good paper made him happier than me looking like a model. I understood this logic perfectly; I just couldn't achieve either. I walked into the restaurant and heard his distinct, booming laugh. I followed the sound. My glasses fogged up from the heat inside. Through the blur, I realized it wasn't just him. A table for four? Not a private room? Weird. Professor Miller waved me over, pointing to the seat across from him. I wiped my glasses and saw the person sitting next to him. Mrs. Miller. We’d been to their house for dinner before, so I knew her well. I pushed my glasses up and smiled sweetly. "Good evening, Mrs. Miller." She looked thrilled to see me. "Harper! Long time no see. Sit, sit." I sat down, looking at the two of them, scratching my head. I couldn't help but ask: "Why the... sudden private dinner tonight?" I thought this was a lab gathering! Miller grunted, sipping his tea, clearly ignoring me. I kept a smile on my face, but internally, I was cursing him out. The only other person I knew who acted this high-and-mighty about academics was my ex-boyfriend. Even that little scoff was identical. I seriously suspected my advisor was my ex's biological father. The old man ignored me, so I looked at the beautiful, gentle Mrs. Miller. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, someone sat down next to me. A faint scent of expensive body wash hit my nose. Freshly showered. Did he know we were eating steak? He was going to smell like grease in five minutes. Before I could turn to look at the new arrival, Mrs. Miller lifted her chin toward him and beamed. "There. That’s the boyfriend I promised you. Do you like him?" 3 I turned my head, curious. One second later, I snapped my head back forward. I covered my face with my hands and rubbed vigorously. Holy sht.* I must have slept too much this afternoon. I was hallucinating. I was hallucinating my ex-boyfriend. I needed to see an optometrist. The man spoke to Miller and Mrs. Miller across the table: "Mom, Dad, parking was a nightmare. Sorry I'm late." Even the voice was the same?! I needed an ENT specialist too. But the heart rate monitor in my watch buzzied—I couldn't lie to my own tachycardia. Sitting next to me was my ex-boyfriend, Ethan. Realizing this, I froze completely, hands still glued to my face. Mrs. Miller’s voice floated over: "Harper, Miller said he’d send you a boyfriend. In this family, we keep our promises. No scams." "You texted back saying you were 'expecting' him, so I spent all day filtering through candidates. I think my son is a great match. You two seem destined. Take a look, are you satisfied?" I slowly peeled my hands off my face. No makeup. Ugly outfit. It had been three years; maybe he wouldn't recognize me. Yeah. Let’s go with that delusion. The fact that I looked like a dumpster fire actually gave me a weird sort of courage. Mrs. Miller urged him: "Ethan, go on, introduce yourself to Harper. Get to know each other." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ethan turn his head toward me. I turned to look at him. He was wearing a black trench coat over a black turtleneck. It made him look taller, more mature. The handsome face was still there, but the boyishness was gone. He looked... expensive. His hair was styled with product. Honestly, he was dressed like he was going to a wedding. Did he know what he was here for? Ethan’s expression was cool, his eyes distant. He didn't look like he recognized me. If he had, he probably would have flipped the table and left. He wouldn't be this calm. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Finally, he spoke: "I'm Ethan." I smiled, contorting my tongue to slur my words in a thick, fake accent. "Hi, I'm Har-pah." "I'm 27 this year." "18." I was actually 25, but I felt like I had a "minus 7 years" coupon today. "Height 6'2"." Me: ? How did he grow an inch in three years? I wasn't having it. "I'm 5'11"!" I’m 5'6". With shoes, 5'7". With high hair volume, 5'8". Round up? 5'11". Math checks out. Professor Miller couldn't take it anymore. "How many insoles did you eat to grow that tall? Stop lying! And no lying when you do your data analysis later!" Mrs. Miller punched his arm. "The kids are flirting, shut up old man!" Miller shut up instantly. Ethan continued: "Bachelor's from Penn. Master's and PhD from Germany." Boring. Tell me something I don't know. I started asking questions proactively. "Germany, huh? Wow. Did you fly there?" "No, I walked across the ocean." "Do you speak English or German in class?" "We speak Klingon. Sometimes Dothraki." "Do you love Daddy or Mommy more?" Ethan looked at me with dead eyes. Those were just warm-ups. The last question was the real one. I cleared my throat. "Did you finish your Master's?" Ethan replied, "I finished my PhD." "..." My fist clenched under the table. I wanted to knock him out. You know the saying: I don't mind if my ex is doing badly, but I'll die if he's driving a Ferrari. Here I was, struggling with experiments, unable to squeeze out a thesis, crying into my pillow every night. And he breezed through a PhD? In Germany? I was practically vibrating with jealousy. Then, the jerk asked, "What about you?" When I encounter a difficult question, I choose silence. I ignored him and buried my face in my tea. I forgot it was freshly poured. It scalded my tongue. I wanted to spit it out but couldn't be rude, so I held the boiling liquid in my mouth, tears forming in my eyes. Right then, a faint, mocking chuckle floated from beside me. I glared at him. Ethan’s smirk froze. He covered his mouth with his hand, but the schadenfreude in his eyes was undeniable. That look. If I kept pretending he didn't recognize me, I was the clown. He knew exactly who I was. He was just playing along to watch me squirm. And now he was laughing at my pain! I was furious. If I had known this dinner was a setup with my ex—who I dumped, and who happened to be my advisor's son—I wouldn't have come. I would have preferred my Master's degree to dissolve like bacon grease rather than sit here. 4 Amidst the anger, I felt a weird pang in my chest. Ethan was dressed up. He took this seriously. He was genuinely hoping to meet a nice girl. He wasn't young anymore. Wanting a new relationship was normal. But even though we broke up ages ago, seeing him ready to move on... it hurt. He probably didn't expect the "date" to be me. He was probably just as miserable as I was right now. I scooted my chair, putting distance between us. If you support me opening a fried chicken shop in the gap between us, press 1. Once I was sure I was as far away as possible, I looked up. His smile was gone. He was frowning, looking annoyed. See? I knew he was unhappy to see me. We both looked away, ignoring each other. The silence at our side of the table drew attention. Professor Miller and his wife stopped looking at the menu. Mrs. Miller broke the ice: "Hey, Harper. I was right next to Miller when you texted this afternoon. I saw you said your boyfriend died." "I was so sorry to hear that... but hey, out with the old, in with the new, right? You have to look forward." "My son is really a catch. If you don't mind, get to know him." Me: "..." Hearing this, Miller stopped glaring at me. His tone softened with sympathy. "I remember you said you started dating your first love in sophomore year. I haven't seen him around the last two years. I assumed you broke up. Didn't know he passed away. You should have said something. I wouldn't have been so harsh on you lately." AHHHHHHHHHH! My first love is sitting RIGHT THERE! Stop talking! Please, everyone, shut up! I couldn't even imagine the expression on Ethan’s face. I was too embarrassed to look. Then Mrs. Miller added: "Ethan, why are you spacing out? Harper asked you so many questions. Don't you have anything to ask her?" "Of course I do." Ethan snapped out of it. He took a sip of tea, looked at me with a half-smile, and spoke slowly: "So, after we broke up, you just went around telling people I died?"
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "389402", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel