Chapter Text
The rest of the afternoon passed with all the grace of a prolonged academic emergency.
In other words, not at all.
By the time Aglaea finally escaped the Humanities Building, she had answered forty-three emails, graded six papers, rejected two extension requests, approved one, and been forced to listen to Cerydra's entirely unnecessary commentary regarding tomorrow's interview. Twice.
The rain had eased by then, or rather, it had finally softened into a persistent drizzle that tapped quietly against umbrellas and pavement alike.
Aglaea adjusted her grip on her cane as she stepped onto the sidewalk.
The city beyond campus remained lively despite the weather. Cars rolled past as the students hurried between buildings; rainy conversations drifted through the evening air. Comforting in its ordinariness.
Aglaea sighed. Tomorrow would come regardless. The interview would happen regardless. There was nothing to do about it other than decide to think about neither. A foolish goal, perhaps, but one she intended to pursue nevertheless.
Ahead, a group of students stood gathered beneath an awning; their conversation reached her only because they were speaking far louder than necessary, as students often did.
"Did you get the autograph?"
Aglaea immediately regretted possessing over-functional hearing. That did not stop her from continuing to listen in.
"What autograph?"
"What do you m—the autograph!"
"That doesn't answer the question."
A dramatic sigh. "Professor Anaxagoras!"
Several voices erupted simultaneously. Some Aglaea recognised… most Aglaea recognised.
"No way." "Seriously?" "You met him?"
"I didn't meet him."
"Then how did you get an autograph?"
"He signed my conference program."
"That still counts!"
Aglaea continued walking at a perfectly reasonable pace. And it was not because she was listening, certainly not. The conversation merely happened to be nearby, unfortunately for her.
"I thought he stopped doing public lectures."
"He mostly did."
"My cousin attended one of his seminars."
"Wait, the six-hour one?"
"The what?"
"The six-hour one."
“Wha—who in their right mind would attend a freakin’ six-hour seminar! I can’t even stay awake in Professor Cerydra’s two-hour classes!”
Aglaea held back a snicker.
"Apparently it was supposed to be two."
Then, Aglaea nearly walked into a lamppost. But, no, it was not because of the conversation. No, the sidewalk was uneven. Why else?
"He's the youngest person to receive that award, isn't he?"
"One of them. He’s, like, twenty-something from what I know…"
"That’s young! Dude, we’re almost in our twenties, what are we doing?”
“Actually, I read one of his papers. Uh, only ‘cus I was curious, though. I understood, like, three pages."
"That's three more than me." At that, the students dissolved into laughter.
Aglaea kept walking, but then another voice joined them—an older student this time. Actually, someone who sounded suspiciously like a graduate assistant.
"You all realise he's interviewing here tomorrow, right?"
The group immediately fell silent. “Wait, what?”
"Mm. I heard the philosophy department is trying to hire him."
"Why would he come here?"
"No clue."
"Do we even have the budget for that?"
"Apparently."
The students continued discussing him as she moved farther down the sidewalk. She heard of his awards, mainly. Then his publications, conferences… the names of papers she vaguely recognised. One student even began to attempt to explain a theory that sounded… incomprehensible to everyone present, including himself. Keyword being attempt.
Though eventually, their voices faded behind her.
“Thank the gods,” she muttered. The silence that followed felt blessed until her phone vibrated thrice. Aglaea pulled it out of her bag, then quickly put it back in. Whatever Cerydra or Hysilens were talking about, whatever they were conspiring—it could wait. Aglaea needed distance.
Or air.
Perhaps she needed both.
❦︎ °࿐ ࿔
The destination wasn’t far. In fact, it was a ten-minute walk from campus. Fifteen if the sidewalks were crowded; twenty if first-years were wandering in groups and blocking every possible path through sheer lack of spatial awareness.
Tonight, it took twelve. The small riverside park sat tucked behind buildings, hidden enough that most students didn’t know it existed. Frankly, Aglaea preferred it that way. The city still surrounded it, people passed from time to time, and traffic was still a distant noise. But compared to campus, it felt quiet.
Peaceful.
She followed the route automatically. Three turns, a short paved path. Then the bench. Her bench, unofficially. She sat down, placing her cane beside her, and the river moved somewhere ahead. She couldn’t see it at all—hadn’t in years—but she knew where it was. Water—much like everything—had a sound. The city, the wind, the trees… everything. People often assumed blindness made the world smaller, but Aglaea had always thought the opposite.
She supposed it… merely changed the map.
She leaned back and listened to the water, the soft breeze, and her own breath as she exhaled. She simply sat there, doing nothing and thinking about nothing…
Or… attempting to, at least. Unfortunately, her brain had other plans.
Tomorrow—the word was persistent, irritatingly so.
She groaned softly. It had been years, hadn’t it? Entire years, and yet one forwarded email had apparently been enough to throw her life into disarray. It was ridiculous, completely. She had survived far more difficult things—the loss of her sight, for one. Graduate school, for two. Being officemates with Cerydra, for three. She could survive an interview, even if that interview involved him.
A splash interrupted her thoughts somewhere nearby. It was not a large splash, so Aglaea thought perhaps it was a stone. Fish? No, she hadn’t recalled any fish the last time she visited…
SPLASH! SPLASH!
Aglaea frowned. No, that was no fish. If it was, it was very persistent. And it was beginning to annoy her… but she had to admit, it was a bit amusing.
Another series of splashes, getting closer.
The stranger was terrible at skipping rocks. One bounce, then another, then silence. One plop after another, before a louder splash—signalling a terrible throw. Aglaea almost smiled.
How inconsistent, she thought before settling back into the bench. The sensible thing would be to ignore it, really. The park was public, after all. People came and went as they pleased, just like her. Someone throwing rocks into the river was hardly unusual.
But curiosity remained one of humanity’s greatest flaws, and Aglaea was, regrettably, human.
Another stone skipped, three impacts this time, then four. Slightly better. Then another throw—one, two… splash! An exhale of disappointment came a staggering five seconds after the splash, but Aglaea failed to find the comedy in it because suddenly, every bone in her body was locked in place.
The cadence of the sigh. The way irritation was permanently embedded in it.
Absolutely not.
The world contained billions of people, and many of them were irritating. Many of them sighed. Many of them sounded vaguely familiar. But none of those meant anything—
Another stone.
Then a mutter. “Impossible.”
Aglaea’s fingers tightened around the handle of her cane. No.
The familiarity was almost painful when the stranger sighed again, and then spoke.
"Either the river has changed shape or the laws of motion are defective,” he said quietly.
Aglaea closed her eyes. The irony of the gesture was not lost on her.
Of course.
Of course it was him. Naturally, because apparently the universe had looked at her desperately trying not to think about him and decided that wasn't nearly cruel enough.
Several moments passed, neither spoke. The river continued moving. The city continued breathing. A distant siren echoed somewhere beyond the park, but Aglaea could hear nothing but the tiny curses of the familiar voice.
Then another stone skipped five times. The man sounded pleased. "Acceptable."
Aglaea truly regretted possessing ears. And as if it couldn’t get any worse, fate (which hated her personally) intervened, her phone suddenly vibrating.
Loudly.
The notification sound echoed through the otherwise quiet riverside. The splashing stopped completely.
Aglaea knew immediately; she just knew. The way one knows a storm is approaching, or a headache, or a committee meeting. But the stranger had noticed her. Several heartbeats passed.
"Aglaea?"
The voice was older. Slightly rougher. More tired than she remembered. Perhaps there was hope that this was not the same man, but Aglaea was anything but stupid. It was unmistakable who the voice belonged to.
Yet she sat perfectly still. She considered pretending to be someone else, but she remembered she was twenty years old, not twelve.
"Anaxagoras."
A long pause, but none of them wanted to fill the silence, thriving in the discomfort of the situation. The sort of pause that only exists between people with history, bad history, and yet neither wished to soothe it.
“You… still come here.”
“Unfortunately, public parks remain public.”
“I wasn’t aware ownership had changed when I left?”
“It has not.”
“Then I fail to see an issue.”
Aglaea had to suppress the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. There he was, exactly as unbearable as she remembered. The years? They had accomplished absolutely nothing.
And unfortunately, the footsteps resumed… approaching. They stopped near the opposite end of the bench, with a deliberate amount of distance that she appreciated. At least he still had common sense.
“You flew in early,” she said, the words escaping before she could stop them, and she pursed her lips before she could say anything more.
Surprisingly, there was a reply. “I did.”
“Why?”
“Personal reasons.”
Aglaea’s expression flattened. She hated that answer—that vagueness. He knew she hated it. That was probably why he gave it.
“Still allergic to specifics, I see,” she said.
“Still demanding them, I see.”
The irritation was practically muscle memory. It would have been fascinating if she wasn’t so pissed. How they could argue within thirty seconds despite it having already been years. In fact, it would’ve been worthy of publication.
“I read your department’s curriculum,” he said.
Aglaea nearly stood up and left. She knew where this would go, but she found her legs stuck to the bench, her own tongue responding unconsciously. “I know.”
“The introductory sequence, it remains inefficient.”
Of all possible topics—academic criticism.
“You’re not emplyed here.”
“Not yet.”
Not yet. Not yet. Aglaea… felt something in her eye twitch. “That statement implies a confidence I find concerning.”
“Only probability.”
“Only arrogance.”
“Statistics,” he hissed.
The years fell away too easily. Every conversation suddenly felt familiar, with every response predictable. Irritation worn smooth by repetition, a realisation she disliked most of all.
“You’re still impossible.”
The words slipped out—and silence immediately followed.
“So I’ve been told.”
Aglaea looked away. Or rather, she turned her face toward the river. Neither of them mentioned the years. Neither mentioned the breakup. Neither mentioned anything that mattered.
But beneath every sentence sat a thousand others, unspoken. Which made everything worse.
Anaxa rose from the bench; she heard the fabric shift and his shoes scrape. One of them had finally remembered how leaving worked.
“The interview is at nine,” he said.
Aglaea nodded.
“I assume… you will be on the panel?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I see.” He paused. “Try not to hold any personal grudges.”
Aglaea nearly laughed. The audacity this man had was truly staggering.
“Personal grudges?”
“Yes.”
“Anaxagoras, may I remind you that you’re the one who submitted twenty-six attachments.”
“Twenty-seven. The committee requested supporting materials.”
She stood. “Not enough to construct a second university.”
“It was relevant.”
“All twenty-seven?” Aglaea pointed her cane in his direction. “You are exhausting.”
“And yet, I am remarkably consistent.”
She hated the answer; she hated all his answers. The calmness, the familiarity—everything. She hated everything. Or at least how easy everything felt, like no time at all had passed, and like nothing had ever happened.
Like nothing had changed in the first place.
Anaxa spoke one final time. “Good evening, Aglaea.”
Formal, distant. The same tone one might have used with a colleague or a stranger or someone unimportant.
That was exactly what she had hoped for.
“Good evening, Anaxagoras.”
His footsteps soon retreated, unhurried. Eventually, he disappeared into the city, but Aglaea remained beside the river, alone once more. Slowly, the quiet returned, but it had become far too different for Aglaea to remain calm.
Tomorrow now had a voice. Unfortunately, it was still as irritating as ever.