Worth It

Cruz sat hunched over her laptop at the small table in her dorm’s kitchenette, staring at the half-written email on the screen. She’d typed three different drafts already, deleting each one in frustration.

Office hours—why am I so nervous about something so normal?

She could sense Bobby just over her shoulder, fidgeting on the living room couch and very much aware of Cruz’s predicament. The mid-afternoon sun filtered through the windows of Greenwich Hall, casting a warm glow on the cluttered space: half-empty water bottles, a stray track shoe, textbooks stacked precariously on the coffee table.

“You know, it’s just an email,” Bobby called, flipping through a magazine she’d picked up from the campus lobby. “You don’t need to write a love letter.”

“It’s not a love letter,” Cruz muttered, her cheeks heating. “It’s a request for an appointment. Totally academic.”

Bobby snorted. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

Cruz glared at the screen. She’d addressed it to Ms. Amrohi—hello, Ms. Amrohi—then second-guessed herself, wondering if she should just say Aaliyah. But that felt too informal, right? Especially after she botched the first reading in class.

Just send it, she chided herself, cracking her knuckles and rereading the message for the twentieth time:

Hello Ms. Amrohi,

I hope you’re doing well. I’m writing to see if you have any availability for office hours outside the scheduled time. I’d like to discuss my potential research topic in more detail. Let me know what works best.

Best,

Cruz Manuelos

Bobby craned her neck over the back of the couch. “Looks good. You sound normal, which is more than I can say for you right now.”

“Shut up,” Cruz said, but her lips twitched in a reluctant smile. She hit send before she could lose her nerve.

“There,” she announced. “Done.”

Bobby wiggled her eyebrows. “Now we wait.”

Cruz closed the laptop and glanced at the time. They had about half an hour before track practice, and she fully intended to burn off her nervous energy running sprints. Maybe by the time I get back, she’ll have replied.

But an undercurrent of excitement flitted through her. It’s just an office hour, she reminded herself. Why does it feel like such a big deal?

--

Later that day, Cruz jogged into the athletic center’s locker room, sweat already trickling down her neck from the warm-up run she’d done outside. The space hummed with the clatter of metal lockers and the banter of track teammates getting ready for Coach Joe’s next drill.

A few of the guys—Tex, Randy, Tucker—lounged by the benches, half-dressed for practice, while Bobby rummaged in her locker for a fresh pair of socks.

“Any new messages from Ms. Hot TA?” Bobby teased, not even bothering to whisper.

Cruz glowered, pulling off her hoodie. “I haven’t checked yet. Also, keep it down—some of us are trying to maintain a shred of dignity.”

Tucker, always in the mood for gossip, perked up. “Oh, so she emailed the TA? Are we still on that?”

Randy chuckled. “We never left it.”

Cruz decided the best defense was a good offense. “Shouldn’t you guys be focusing on your own coursework or something?”

Tucker shrugged. “We’re not the ones drooling over the TA.”

“Shut up,” Cruz said, though she felt a twinge of amusement mingled with embarrassment. She sat down on the bench and started lacing up her track shoes, forcing the tension in her shoulders to ease.

Coach Joe’s voice echoed from the hallway, calling for them to gather on the indoor track. Cruz stood, grabbed her water bottle, and nudged Bobby. “Come on, we’ve got sprints to crush.”

Bobby smirked. “Can’t wait to see you run like you’ve got something to prove.”

Cruz huffed but couldn’t deny it. She needed the distraction. The thought of her email waiting, possibly with a reply from Aaliyah, lingered in the back of her mind, fueling a strange mix of anticipation and dread.

--

A grueling practice later, Cruz stumbled back into the locker room, legs trembling from the last set of intervals. Her T-shirt clung to her, drenched in sweat, and she could practically feel her pulse thudding in her temples.

“You still alive?” Bobby asked, peeling off her socks and tossing them aside.

Cruz nodded, panting. “Barely. Think I did extra laps just to get the stress out.”

Bobby grinned. “You can relax now. Go check your phone.”

Cruz hesitated, her heart giving a small lurch. She probably replied. That’s good. Right? She wiped her hands on a towel and dug her phone from the side pocket of her gym bag. Sure enough, one new email notification from “A. Amrohi.”

She clicked it open, ignoring the curious glances of her teammates, and read:

Hello Cruz,

I’m glad you reached out. I have some time available this Friday afternoon after my usual office hours end, around 4:30 p.m. If that works for you, let me know, and we can discuss your research topic in detail.

Best,

Aaliyah Amrohi

A flutter of excitement danced through Cruz’s chest. Friday at 4:30. She quickly typed a reply, confirming she’d be there.

Bobby, done packing her things, leaned over. “Good news?”

Cruz nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “She said Friday at 4:30. I’m going.”

Bobby winked. “Of course you are.”

Cruz tried to ignore the flicker of nerves that coiled beneath her excitement. Keep it professional, she reminded herself. She’s just doing her job.

--

Friday came faster than Cruz expected. The week blurred with classes, track meets, and late-night library sessions. Each day brought a small surge of nerves whenever she remembered her upcoming appointment. By the time she walked into the building that housed Aaliyah’s office, her stomach churned in a jittery mix of curiosity and anxiety.

She paused in the hallway, smoothing her hoodie. Her hair was down today, free of the usual tight ponytail she wore for track. It felt odd, but she’d told herself it was because she was done with practice for the day—not because she was trying to look more presentable. Who am I kidding?

Checking her watch—4:27 p.m.—she took a calming breath and strode toward the door.

Inside the small TA office, which was essentially a cramped room with a desk and a couple of chairs, she found Aaliyah already seated, skimming through some notes. The fluorescent light hummed faintly, highlighting the neat stack of textbooks on a side table.

Aaliyah looked up and greeted her with a polite smile. “Hey, you made it.”

Cruz tried to keep her heart from pounding. “Uh, yes. Hi, Dr. Amrohi.”

Aaliyah’s lips curved into a slight smirk. “Not a doctor yet. Aaliyah is fine.”

Heat flooded Cruz’s cheeks. “Right. Sorry, I just—okay, Aaliyah.”

She sank into the chair across from the desk, gripping her notebook so hard she feared she might wrinkle the pages. The room felt stifling, despite the air conditioning’s steady drone.

Aaliyah set aside her notes. “So, you want to talk about your research topic. Where are you leaning?”

Stay calm. “Yes, I was thinking about humanitarian challenges in Middle Eastern conflict zones. Specifically, the role of NGOs and how they navigate local government structures.”

Aaliyah listened, head tilted slightly, her gaze attentive. Cruz noticed the subtle elegance of her posture, the way a single strand of dark hair slipped forward before she tucked it behind her ear.

“That’s a broad area,” Aaliyah said thoughtfully. “But it has a lot of potential. Have you considered focusing on a specific country or conflict to narrow it down?”

Cruz nodded, flipping open her notebook. “I read a couple of articles—one on Syrian refugee camps and another about Yemen’s ongoing crisis. I’m torn because there’s so much to cover.”

Aaliyah tapped a pen on the desk. “Good starting point. You’ll want to choose something you can realistically handle in twenty pages. Maybe explore how NGOs coordinate with local leaders for resource distribution?”

Cruz scribbled notes, feeling more confident by the second. “That makes sense. I guess I was worried I’d bite off too much.”

“That’s a common issue,” Aaliyah reassured her, a gentle smile playing on her lips. “But you’ve got time to refine it.”

--

They delved deeper into potential source materials, discussing case studies and relevant academic journals. Aaliyah opened a bookmarked page on her laptop, leaning in so Cruz could see. The smell of faint citrus shampoo—Aaliyah’s shampoo, presumably—drifted across the small space, making Cruz’s heart flutter unexpectedly.

“Here,” Aaliyah said, pointing to a section. “These are first-hand accounts from humanitarian workers. They can give your paper a personal angle.”

Cruz swallowed, nodding. “That’s… that’s great. Thank you.”

For a moment, their eyes met—Cruz picking up the soft intensity in Aaliyah’s gaze. A mild current of something electric passed between them, neither of them speaking. Then Aaliyah cleared her throat and turned back to the screen.

Cruz felt her pulse race. Why am I reacting like this? She’s just being helpful. And nice.

After a few more minutes of discussing outline structures, Aaliyah closed her laptop. “You know, you can drop by office hours again if you need more help narrowing your research. I’ve got a few specialized sources that might be helpful, especially ones covering real-time conflict zone management.”

Cruz blinked. “Oh… sure. That’d be great.”

She’s just offering, right? She probably does this for everyone.

Aaliyah paused, as if reading Cruz’s hesitation. “I mean it. I’d be happy to work with you one-on-one.”

A flicker of warmth stirred in Cruz’s chest. She’s just being a good TA. Don’t read into it.

“Thank you,” Cruz said softly, shutting her notebook. She breathed a silent prayer that her face wasn’t betraying the nervous swirl of emotions inside her.

--

They stood, and Cruz realized how small the office felt with both of them upright. Aaliyah was petite, but she held herself with a quiet confidence that somehow made her seem taller. Cruz, though physically bigger, felt almost shy in her presence.

“I appreciate your time,” Cruz said, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. “I know it’s late on a Friday.”

Aaliyah brushed aside the concern. “It’s not a problem. I like seeing students genuinely engaged with the material.” Her lips curved in a gentle smile.

Cruz mirrored the smile, heart pounding. “Yeah, I’ll definitely be more prepared for class from now on.”

Aaliyah’s eyes danced with amusement. “You did fine the other day. And if you ever need more pointers—like finding primary sources, structuring arguments—just email me or stop by.”

Cruz nodded, mind buzzing with half-formed questions she didn’t dare voice. She stepped toward the door, feeling the tension in her shoulders gradually ease.

“Have a good weekend,” Aaliyah added, leaning against the desk as she watched Cruz leave.

“Thanks. You too,” Cruz managed. She left the office, her footsteps echoing in the corridor.

The moment she was alone, she pressed a hand to her chest, exhaling a shaky breath. Get it together, Manuelos.

As she walked down the hallway, she replayed every moment—the slip calling her “Dr. Amrohi,” the subtle smile, the faint closeness when they hovered over the laptop. She couldn’t deny there’d been some… energy. But it might just be her overactive imagination.

She’s just being nice. She’s a TA—it’s literally her job.

--

Cruz stepped outside into the late afternoon chill, crossing campus with a blend of relief and confusion swirling in her chest. The sky had turned a soft lavender, the sun dipping behind tall buildings, and a few students hurried past, likely headed to their Friday night plans.

She spotted Bobby near a statue in the quad, leaning against a low stone wall, checking her phone. When Bobby saw Cruz approach, she stuffed the phone away and smirked.

“So? How’d it go?”

Cruz shrugged, trying to keep her voice steady. “Fine. We talked research. She gave me some good references.”

Bobby angled her head, seeing right through Cruz’s casual demeanor. “Just research, huh?”

“Mostly.” Cruz glanced aside, a stubborn flush creeping up her neck. “She said I can come back anytime if I need more help.”

At that, Bobby’s eyebrows shot up. “Really now? Because I just had office hours with her earlier—asked a few clarifying questions about the reading—and she didn’t say anything about dropping by whenever.”

Cruz paused, her heart giving a startled flip. “Wait, she didn’t offer extra help to you?”

Bobby shook her head. “Nope, she just answered my questions and told me to keep up with the readings. She definitely didn’t invite me to hang around for more one-on-one sessions.”

A burst of conflicting emotions surged in Cruz’s chest: excitement and confusion and a small, absurd flicker of hope. “I… maybe she thinks I need it more? Because I messed up on that first cold call?”

Bobby snorted, crossing her arms. “Please, you’re not that clueless. You’re smart, you just had an off day. Honestly, it sounds like Ms. Amrohi might be giving you special treatment.”

Cruz’s heart pounded in her ears. “You think?”

“Sure. Or maybe she’s just being extra nice. But hey, you can interpret it how you want,” Bobby teased, letting her grin widen. “You can imagine she’s totally into you, or you can assume she thinks you’re academically helpless.”

Cruz rolled her eyes, though the tension in her shoulders lifted. “Thanks for that.”

Bobby laughed, slinging an arm around Cruz’s shoulders. “Come on, I’m starving. We can talk about how you’re going to convince yourself she only sees you as a pity case over a slice of pizza.”

Cruz forced a smile, but her mind still reeled from the revelation. Aaliyah invited her back specifically—did that mean something else? No, she told herself. I can’t get my hopes up.

But the small spark of possibility remained, stubbornly refusing to dim.

--

Bobby led the way to a nearby pizzeria, a cramped spot with wobbly tables and the aroma of garlic bread wafting through the air. They slid into a booth by the window, the neon sign outside casting a faint red glow on their faces.

As soon as they’d placed their orders—two slices each, plus drinks—Bobby leaned forward, elbows on the table. “All right, spill. What exactly did she say?”

Cruz fiddled with a napkin. “Nothing, really. Just, you know, showing me her laptop, pointing out articles, and telling me I could come back if I needed more help refining my topic.”

Bobby wiggled her brows. “Was there any kind of… vibe?”

Cruz felt her cheeks burn again. “I don’t know. She was polite, professional, but I could have sworn there was something else in the air, you know?” She sighed, glancing at the other patrons, relieved that no one was paying attention to their conversation. “But maybe I’m projecting.”

“Or maybe you’re not.” Bobby’s tone was mischievous. “Remember, I told you she didn’t invite me back. Maybe she’s reserving that invitation for someone she’s interested in.”

Cruz shrugged, restlessly folding the napkin between her fingers. “I guess it’s possible, but it’s probably just because I flubbed that first reading and she thinks I need extra guidance.”

Bobby shook her head. “You read everything now. You’re actually more on top of the material than I am.”

A server plopped two massive slices of pizza in front of them, interrupting the conversation. Bobby dove in, blowing on the molten cheese, while Cruz picked at her slice, still lost in thought.

After a few bites, Bobby spoke again. “So, what if she does like you? Would you do anything about it?”

Cruz froze, her slice halfway to her mouth. “I—I don’t know. She’s my TA, and there’s a power dynamic, right? Plus, I’m a senior, and it’s not like there’s a clear future for me after graduation.”

“True. But it’s your last semester. You have every right to explore something if it feels right—and if it’s mutual, of course,” Bobby said, chewing thoughtfully. “Also, you deserve something good in your life, you know?”

Cruz lowered her gaze. Her mind flitted back to the lonely nights in her childhood, to her shattered family, and the feeling that she had no one. I do want something good.

But the timing and circumstances felt loaded. Maybe it’s just a fleeting crush. Or maybe she’s just kind.

She took a bite of pizza, savoring the warmth. “I’m not going to read into it too much. I have enough on my plate—literally and figuratively.”

Bobby laughed. “Suit yourself.”

Yet, deep down, Cruz knew she wouldn’t be able to banish the idea so easily.

--

Hours later, Cruz found herself alone in her bedroom, the overhead light dim. Bobby had gone out to meet some girl from Tinder, leaving the dorm unnaturally quiet. The glow of Cruz’s laptop screen illuminated the mess of notes, textbooks, and scratch papers strewn across her desk.

She tried to focus on refining her research topic outline, but her thoughts kept drifting to the memory of Aaliyah’s soft smile, the faint citrus scent that had lingered in the TA’s office, the way she’d seemed genuinely invested in Cruz’s progress.

I’m overthinking. She tapped her pen against the desk, scanning the bullet points she’d typed:

• Humanitarian challenges in conflict zones
• Case study: NGOs in Yemen or Syria?
• Possible interview or anecdotal angle?

She shook her head. Focus, Manuelos. She forced herself to read an article about NGO funding structures, highlighting relevant passages.

Yet, every so often, she’d recall Bobby’s words: She didn’t invite me back.

An image of Aaliyah’s face drifted across her mind, and Cruz tried to decipher if that fleeting curve of her lips had held a deeper meaning. She probably offers help to everyone, I’m just reading too much into it.

Still, the uncertainty gnawed at her. She wished she could just ask Aaliyah point-blank if she was offering special attention. But that felt absurdly forward—and possibly humiliating if the answer was no.

Finally, exhaustion won out over her jumbled thoughts. Cruz shut her laptop and climbed into bed, flicking off the lamp. Darkness settled around her, and she stared at the faint glow of city lights through the window.

Maybe I should just keep attending office hours, see if the vibe changes. If it’s strictly academic, I’ll know soon enough.

It was a plan, albeit a shaky one, but it soothed her enough to let sleep overtake her.

--

Saturday dawned bright and clear, a rarity in a city that often woke under gray skies. Cruz stirred, bleary-eyed, to the sound of her phone buzzing. She fumbled for it under the pillow, squinting at the screen. A text from Bobby:

[Bobby]: Breakfast? There’s a farmers’ market pop-up near campus.

Cruz yawned, glancing at the time—8:23 a.m. Too early for a weekend, she thought. But the promise of fresh food and some best-friend banter lured her.

[Cruz]: Sure. Meet outside Greenwich Hall in 20.

She dragged herself out of bed, tossing on joggers and a hoodie. Her reflection in the bathroom mirror revealed dark hair in disarray and faint circles under her eyes, but she was too hungry to care. Some fresh air might help me clear my head.

Downstairs, the dorm lobby bustled with students heading out for runs, coffee, or weekend shifts at part-time jobs. She stepped onto the street, where a mild breeze carried the scent of baked goods from a nearby cafe.

Bobby waved from the corner, hands tucked into the pockets of her track jacket, in the same outfit from the night before. “Morning, sunshine.”

Cruz stretched her arms overhead, stifling a yawn. “I’m not fully awake yet.”

They walked side by side toward the pop-up market near Washington Square, passing clusters of vendors setting up stalls of fruit, vegetables, and artisan bread. The atmosphere buzzed with early shoppers and the subdued cheer of a weekend in the city.

“So,” Bobby said, meandering along a stall of bright oranges and apples. “You think you’ll schedule another meeting with Aaliyah soon?”

Cruz shrugged, carefully examining a basket of strawberries. “She said I could drop by any time. I might. But I’ll probably wait until I refine my outline a bit.”

“Right.” Bobby picked up a carton of blueberries, sniffing them. “You might not want to wait too long, though. Don’t want to lose momentum.”

Cruz raised a brow. “Are you giving me academic advice or romantic advice?”

Bobby laughed. “Yes.”

They paid for their fruit and made their way to a small wooden table on the market’s outskirts, munching on fresh berries in comfortable silence. Cruz let the tangy sweetness pop in her mouth, relishing a moment of peace.

If only everything else could be this simple, she mused, glancing at the crowds milling around. No overthinking, no uncertainty.

Yet, she knew the tension in her life went beyond an innocent crush. The pressure of graduating, the track meets, her lack of family support… all of it loomed over her. A small part of her craved a distraction—something, or someone, who might offer genuine warmth in a life that often felt cold.

But is Aaliyah that person? I can’t assume.

Bobby nudged her lightly. “You good?”

Cruz forced a small smile. “Yeah, just… thinking. Let’s go check out that bread stall.”

Bobby clapped her on the shoulder, and they continued weaving through the market, letting the swirl of vendors and city life fill the gaps in their conversation.

--

That afternoon, Cruz returned to her dorm, arms laden with a small bag of fresh pastries and produce. She set them on the kitchenette counter, rummaging for a water bottle. Bobby had peeled off to meet another friend, leaving Cruz alone again in the quiet hum of room 0805.

She reflected on the whirlwind of the past week: from drafting that awkward email, to meeting Aaliyah in her cramped office, to discovering that maybe—just maybe—Aaliyah wasn’t offering special sessions to everyone.

This is crazy, she thought with a soft laugh. I’m the same person who swore I’d focus only on track and academics until I graduate.

Yet, the more she tried to dismiss the idea of a deeper connection, the more it nagged at her. She was already looking for reasons to see Aaliyah again, whether academically or otherwise.

Standing in the middle of the dorm, she paused, letting the city’s muffled noise seep through the walls. She felt a subtle excitement, the promise of something new and uncertain.

Maybe Bobby’s right—maybe I deserve something good. Even if it’s complicated, even if it’s just for a moment.

She grabbed her phone, scrolling through old messages, finding the email thread with Aaliyah’s invitation. She considered drafting another email, maybe asking if she could come by next week with more outline questions. Her thumb hovered over the screen.

Not right now, she decided. I should actually do more research first. Don’t want to go in empty-handed.

Instead, she set the phone aside and pulled open her laptop, determined to compile a rough outline of her paper. If she wanted to keep Aaliyah’s interest—strictly academically, of course—she needed to prove she was serious about the work.

Focus on the paper, and see what happens next.

With that, she planted herself at her desk, immersing herself in articles, case studies, and NGO reports, letting the steady rhythm of research ground her swirling thoughts.

But beneath the academic veneer, a small flame of curiosity and anticipation burned, waiting to see how Friday’s meeting would ripple through the rest of the semester—and her life.