Chapter 3 — Clashing Worlds

Third Person

The morning sunlight filtered through the high, arched windows of the seminar room, gilding the polished wooden table where Ellie sat. Her fountain pen tapped against the edge of her notebook with a quiet, rhythmic precision, the faint scent of paper and ink grounding her. Across from her, Drew hunched over a stack of papers, his brow furrowed in a mix of concentration and unease. The faint hum of the overhead lights underscored the tension in the air, punctuated by the muffled sounds of footsteps in the hallway beyond.

“These outlines,” Ellie began, her tone crisp but measured, “show effort, but the structure could be more consistent. Some are overly detailed, while others barely scratch the surface.”

Drew glanced up, his pen frozen mid-air. “I thought more detail might help,” he said, his voice defensive but tinged with uncertainty. “Especially for the more complex readings.”

Ellie adjusted her glasses, her expression cool yet focused. “It’s not about more or less detail, Mr. Moreno. It’s about balance. The undergraduates need clarity—a framework that’s accessible but sturdy enough to guide them through the material.”

“Balance,” Drew repeated under his breath, lowering his gaze to the outlines. His grip on his pen tightened as he scratched a quick note in the margin of one page. “I’ll fix it,” he muttered. “Make it more... balanced.”

Ellie leaned back in her chair, observing him with a critical eye. His enthusiasm was evident, even admirable, but his inexperience showed in every uneven paragraph and erratic margin note. Still, there were flashes of insight buried beneath the chaos—a potential she couldn’t ignore. Her gaze flicked to his notebook, the leather cover worn and frayed at the edges, a corner of a page peeking out, crowded with dense handwriting and what looked like quick sketches.

Her fingers hesitated on her fountain pen. “If your outlines reflect your personal note-taking,” she said, gesturing subtly toward the notebook, “then perhaps your process could benefit from a bit more... discipline.”

Drew blinked, leaning back slightly. “I guess my notes make sense to me,” he said, his tone defensive but softer now. “But I see what you mean.”

Ellie nodded slightly. “It’s about translation. It’s one thing to understand the material yourself; it’s another to communicate it effectively.”

For a moment, Drew said nothing, his jaw tightening as a flicker of doubt crossed his face. His pen hovered over the page before he dropped it and met her gaze. “I’ll get it,” he said, his tone steadier now. “Just—let me try again.”

Ellie studied him, her sharp gaze catching the flicker of determination in his eyes. He was floundering but refusing to give up—a dynamic that sparked a faint memory of her own early struggles under Harold’s exacting mentorship. She nodded briskly. “You have until Friday to revise these. If you’d like, I can provide examples from previous semesters to guide you.”

Drew hesitated, the faintest hint of pride flashing in his expression. “No, thank you. I’d rather figure it out myself.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow but didn’t press him. “Very well. Let’s move on to the syllabus.”

As the discussion shifted, Drew’s nervous energy began to fade, replaced by cautious confidence. He offered suggestions sparingly, some of which Ellie dismissed with a curt shake of her head, while others earned a slight, almost imperceptible nod of approval. Despite his earlier frustration, Drew’s mind was sharp, his enthusiasm undeniable. But as the minutes ticked by, Ellie found herself growing impatient with his tendency to overcomplicate even the simplest points.

When he proposed adding a supplementary reading to the second week’s schedule, she interrupted him mid-sentence. “We’re not revising the syllabus to accommodate every tangential idea that crosses your mind,” she said, her tone clipped.

Drew flinched, his shoulders tensing. “I just thought it might give the students a broader perspective,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Ellie exhaled sharply, forcing herself to temper her irritation. “Broader perspectives are valuable, but not at the expense of focus. The syllabus is already ambitious.”

Drew nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line as the tension in the room thickened. Ellie set her pen down, clasping her hands in front of her. “Mr. Moreno,” she began, her tone shifting to something softer, more measured, “I understand that you’re eager to contribute. That’s commendable. But part of your role as a teaching assistant is to learn—about the subject matter and about the craft of teaching. This isn’t about proving yourself; it’s about honing your skills.”

Drew met her gaze, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, quietly, he said, “I know. I just... I want to do this right. To be good at it.”

Ellie regarded him, her sharp features softening ever so slightly. “Then take my critiques as opportunities, not obstacles. I’m not here to make this easy for you, but I am here to help you succeed.”

A faint smile ghosted across Drew’s face, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ellie nodded, watching as he gathered his papers and notebook. His movements were quick, slightly uncoordinated, and she could sense the weight he carried—not just her expectations, but something deeper, something unspoken.

“Good work today,” she said abruptly as he reached the door.

Drew turned, surprised. “Thanks,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’ll have the revisions to you by Friday.”

Ellie nodded again, her gaze lingering on the door long after it clicked shut. She turned back to the stack of papers he’d left behind, picking up one of the outlines. Scanning its uneven structure, she found herself noticing, almost reluctantly, the glimmers of creativity buried within. Despite its flaws, the potential was undeniable. For a brief moment, her own early days under Harold’s guidance flickered through her mind—his critiques had been no less exacting, but they had sharpened her skills and forced her to rise to challenges she hadn’t known she could meet. Perhaps, she thought, Drew deserved the same chance.

For the first time in a long while, Ellie felt a faint stir of anticipation. Guiding him would be a challenge, but it might also be worth it.

In the hallway, Drew let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His mind buzzed with a mix of frustration and resolve. Ellie’s critiques had stung, but they also lit a spark in him. He clutched his notebook tighter, his thoughts racing as he replayed the meeting in his head. He needed to prove himself—not just to her, but to himself.

The faint scent of burnt coffee greeted him as he stepped into the Departmental Lounge. Samira was perched on one of the mismatched chairs, her patchwork scarf draped loosely over her shoulder. She looked up from her laptop and grinned. “Survive the dragon?”

“Barely,” Drew muttered, dropping into the chair across from her. “She’s... intense.”

“She’s brilliant,” Samira countered, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “And if she’s tearing into you, it means she sees potential.”

Drew groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Potential isn’t going to stop her from tearing my outlines apart.”

Samira laughed, the sound warm and comforting. “Welcome to academia, my friend. It’s like the Hunger Games, but with fewer weapons and more passive-aggressive emails.”

Drew snorted despite himself. “I’d probably have better luck in the Hunger Games.”

“Yeah, but at least here you’ve got me as your mentor. May the odds be ever in your favor,” she said with a wink, draping her scarf dramatically over her shoulder.

As Drew recounted the meeting, his frustration began to ease, replaced by a flicker of determination. He still had a long way to go, but for the first time, he felt like he might actually be up to the task.

Back in her office, Ellie set Drew’s outline aside and reached for her fountain pen, its familiar weight grounding her. She tapped it lightly against the edge of her notebook, her mind straying to Harold’s office years ago. She could almost hear his patient but unyielding tone, the way he had demanded more from her than she thought she could give. Perhaps, she thought, Drew might surprise her yet.