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[Is it because of my study-abroad stuff? I'll stay. I won't go abroad. Stay here with me, okay?]
I stared at the finished report on my laptop and texted back:
[But Ethan… I have to go.]
I walked to the academic office carrying the report.
Our program had one government-funded placement abroad—the Ivy sanctum of our field.
If I got that slot, full scholarship, I'd work with top academics.
I'd chased that single opportunity for years.
Instead, Ethan—an interloper from another major—had secured it with a flash, jaw-dropping new drug-development paper.
Personally, I'd been after that slot for three years.
But in the months since, I'd proven his paper wrong.
Our department experts were reading my analysis when Ethan strode in, glanced at me, and told the study-abroad coordinator, "I'm giving it up. Give it to her."
A single airy sentence.
Should I be grateful? I was bewildered. Finally I said what had been on my mind: "Your giving it up makes my hard work feel pointless."
Ethan flinched. "You worked your way close to me just for this report?"
"Do you know how easy it is for you? You wave your hand and ordinary people have to fight tooth and nail for a scrap. I had to claw for fairness."
A shadow passed across Ethan's eyes.
"Was it all fake—your feelings for me?"
Look: I'd tried so hard to earn fairness in a world where they could take whatever they wanted.
After I reclaimed what was mine, they acted wounded like they'd lost.
I sighed.
"What can I say to not hurt you?" I asked.
I could say something flattering—I have plenty.
Ethan left, finally understanding I hadn't actually been angry.
