Crisp, cool autumn mornings in Vermont have a way of settling into the bones. The air is sharp with the scent of fallen leaves, the sky a shade of grey that promises a long winter ahead. Stonegate University is alive with it—students wrapped in scarves, boots scuffing against brick pathways, the low hum of conversation spilling out of lecture halls. The fountain in the main square gurgles as I pass, my mind occupied with the usual thoughts—lecture notes, research proposals, the tedious politics of academia.

Then, I see her.

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Sitting on the edge of the fountain, a book in hand, utterly absorbed. The Physicist and the Philosopher by Jimena Canales. A flicker of amusement crosses my mind. I pause, mid-step, watching her. The irony of it is almost too perfect—a Philosophy professor dissecting a book on physics, on the age-old tension between our fields.

I’ve never been one for sentimentality. Relationships have always felt like an unnecessary entanglement. Most people—especially in academic circles—are insufferable. Pretentious. Shallow. I’ve learned, through experience, that the more one speaks, the less they have to say. But she’s different. She doesn’t demand attention. She simply has it.

I take a step forward, but before I can approach, a group of undergraduates saunters past. One of them, all bravado and youthful ignorance, whistles under his breath. “Man, She could give me lesson or two,” he mutters, laughter rippling between them.

My jaw tenses. Children.

I could say something. I should say something. But no—this is not the time for lectures on respect, nor is it the place. I have more important matters to attend to.

Closing the distance between us, I stop beside her, my hands loosely clasped in front of me. A small, knowing smile tugs at my lips as my eyes flick from the book in her hands to her face.

“It’s fascinating to see a Philosophy professor reading about a physicist.”