Worth It

The campus breathed a rare lull, thanks to the break in classes ahead of final exams. Cruz strolled across the main quad, the crisp late-spring air ruffling her hair. She’d just finished a study session in the library and felt light, her final in Professor Asif’s class only days away. Still, the tension of the last near-discovery with Aaliyah lingered. We’re almost through this, she reminded herself. No more slip-ups.

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. A text from Aaliyah:

[Aaliyah]: Free for brunch on Sunday? Found the cutest spot in Brooklyn with great coffee. Thought we could celebrate finishing your last paper.

Cruz’s heart fluttered. A brunch date. The idea felt sweetly domestic, a normal couple activity—something they hadn’t been able to do publicly. Yet her gut clenched, remembering the Zoom call she’d scheduled with UNOCHA that same Sunday morning. She typed back:

[Cruz]: That sounds amazing, but I can’t. I have a call with that NGO contact. Maybe lunch after?

Her phone trilled almost instantly:

[Aaliyah]: The Geneva one? Are you doing an interview?

Cruz exhaled, stepping to the side of a walkway bench. The time had come to reveal her looming future to Aaliyah, who only knew bits and pieces about “some NGO interest.” She typed more carefully:

[Cruz]: Yeah, a more formal chat. Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. They offered me a possible position in Geneva… if I pass the next steps.

A flurry of emotions swept through her. Am I dropping a bomb on our fragile relationship?

--

Aaliyah read Cruz’s message in her small TA office, heart pounding. Geneva. She recalled how she’d given Cruz a contact at UNOCHA, but she hadn’t realized how fast it turned into a full-blown opportunity. Pride mingled with a jolt of fear. Geneva… so far away.

She typed back, ignoring the flicker of sadness:

[Aaliyah]: Wow, that’s huge. I’m really proud of you, Cruz.

For a moment, she stared at the blinking cursor, unsure what else to say. What does that mean for us?

[Cruz]: Thanks. We can talk more in person. Sorry I kept it under wraps.

Aaliyah set her phone aside, heart heavy. She pictured Cruz across the ocean, forging a new life. A good life—fulfilling, a dream job. I should be happy for her. But the question of their future together gnawed at her.

--

Later that afternoon, they managed a brief meet-up at a campus coffee kiosk, a compromise between secrecy and convenience. The weather was pleasant enough for them to sit at a quiet bench overshadowed by a large oak tree, far from the busiest paths.

Aaliyah sipped her latte, trying not to show the tumult in her chest. “So, the call this Sunday… what exactly is it about?” Her voice was calm, though her stomach twisted.

Cruz rested her elbows on her knees, gaze dropping to the coffee cup in her hand. “It’s basically an interview, or a final screening. If it goes well, I’d be offered a short-term contract with UNOCHA in Geneva. Starting pretty soon after graduation.” She forced a small, nervous smile. “I’m excited but terrified.”

Aaliyah nodded, swallowing the knot in her throat. “That’s amazing, truly. You deserve a shot at something big.” She reached out, ghosting her hand over Cruz’s for an instant—a fleeting touch. Careful, we’re in public.

Cruz mustered a laugh. “Yeah. We’ll see if they pick me.” She fell quiet, meeting Aaliyah’s eyes. “Are you… okay with it?”

Aaliyah’s stomach flipped. “Of course I’m proud of you,” she said earnestly. “But… Geneva is so far. We—” She glanced away. “We’re finally getting close again, and then you might leave.” Her voice trembled with worry.

Cruz squeezed Aaliyah’s hand, quickly retracting before any passerby noticed. “I haven’t decided anything yet. Let’s just survive finals, see if they even offer it officially. We’ll figure out the rest.”

They shared a tense smile, unspoken fears dancing in the air around them. One hurdle at a time.

--

That evening, Aaliyah returned to her apartment with groceries in tow. She’d barely set them down when her phone rang—a familiar number from her parents’ estate. Ugh, not again. She steeled herself, pressing ‘accept.’

“Hello, Mother,” she said, feigning pleasantness.

A barrage of polite, yet insistent questions followed, her mother’s voice dripping with her usual brand of well-meaning meddling. “We’ve heard you turned down Ehsan again. Why? Are you seeing another man? This is unseemly, habibti…”

Aaliyah bristled, carefully controlling her tone. “I’m not seeing Ehsan because I don’t want to. My personal life is my own, Mother. I told you, I’m focused on my dissertation.”

Her mother sighed dramatically. “But you’re not getting any younger. Your father wonders if there is… someone else. Another man we should know about? We just want you settled.”

A wave of resentment flared. Another man? They had no clue she was actually drawn to a woman—a student no less. “Mother, please. I’m not discussing my private matters. Ehsan is out of the picture.”

Her mother pressed on, lamenting how the family worried about her future, how Aaliyah needed to consider marriage. Aaliyah let out a weary sigh. “I have to go. We’ll talk later. Love you.” She hung up, heart pounding with anger and frustration. They’ll never stop pushing.

--

Needing release, Aaliyah shot a quick text to Cruz:

[Aaliyah]: My mother called. They’re bugging me about marriage. Ehsan nonsense, again.

[Cruz]: Ugh, sorry. Want to talk?

Minutes later, they hopped on a quick phone call. Aaliyah paced her living room, breath unsteady. “They act like I owe them a husband, ignoring everything I’ve achieved academically.” She ranted softly. “I told them Ehsan’s not happening. They just can’t fathom that I’d reject him for no reason. They suspect I have ‘another man.’”

Cruz listened, jaw tight with protective anger. “They’re so controlling. Why do you care so much about their expectations?”

Aaliyah’s throat tensed. “They’re my family, Cruz. It’s not so simple to just say ‘forget them.’ We come from a tight-knit background, and they pay for part of my schooling, my lifestyle, everything. If I sever ties…” She swallowed. “You wouldn’t understand. You never had that family pressure.”

Cruz flinched, guilt lacing her voice. “Right, I don’t have any family. I do get that it’s complicated. But you’re an adult.”

Aaliyah’s frustration flared. “They hold a lot of power. I can’t just vanish, or I lose everything. My father wouldn’t hesitate to cut me off if I displease them too much.” She paused, tears threatening. Am I letting them control me or protecting what I’ve built?

Cruz exhaled. “That’s messed up.” Her tone carried a note of judgment. “You should do what makes you happy, not what they demand.”

The comment stung Aaliyah. “It’s easy for you to say. You don’t rely on family money to maintain your life. I do.”

A tense silence hovered, neither sure how to bridge the divide. Finally, Aaliyah let out a shaky breath. “I appreciate your support, but sometimes I feel you dismiss how real this is.”

Cruz bit back a retort, aware the conversation was heading into a fragile zone. “I’m sorry. We’re both stressed. Let’s table it, okay?”

They ended the call on a muted note, unresolved tension simmering beneath the surface.

--

The next day, each tried to focus on final exam prep, but the friction from last night’s conversation lingered. Cruz felt a pang of guilt—Aaliyah’s family might be controlling, but it was important to her, and Cruz had brushed it off. Meanwhile, Aaliyah wrestled with guilt for snapping at Cruz, yet the sense that Cruz didn’t grasp her cultural obligations remained.

Their texts were curt:

[Aaliyah]: Busy today, can’t meet. Good luck with studying.

[Cruz]: Ok, talk later.

Cruz’s stomach churned. Are we drifting?

Aaliyah, holed up in her TA office once again, couldn’t concentrate. We were so close to a breakthrough. Now everything is piling up again: family, the secrecy, the looming final, and Cruz’s potential departure for Geneva.

--

That evening, after a half-finished study session, Aaliyah spontaneously invited Cruz to her apartment. She needed to talk, to clear the air. Cruz arrived, eyes rimmed with exhaustion but determined.

They sat in the living room, tension thick as they stared at each other. Finally, Aaliyah broke the silence. “Your final is in two days. Maybe after that, we can figure out how to tell people, or at least not hide. Right?”

Cruz nodded, but her voice held an edge. “Sure, but we still have the issue with your family. And my possible move to Geneva, which we haven’t really talked about.”

Aaliyah stiffened, hugging her arms around herself. “I said I’m proud of you. But yes, it worries me. Are you just going to vanish across the ocean? We only just started this.”

Irritation flared in Cruz’s chest. “It’s an opportunity I might not get again. You know I have no family to fall back on, no money. This job is a big deal.”

Aaliyah’s voice rose. “Of course I know. But do you realize how complicated it’ll be to have a long-distance relationship? Especially after all we’ve been through?”

Cruz stood, pacing near the coffee table. “You can’t want me to stay here, or are you just expecting me to choose you over my career?” The words emerged sharper than intended.

Aaliyah’s eyes glistened, frustration pouring out. “I never said that. But you’re acting like my concerns don’t matter. As if my family’s opinions or my own reservations about long distance are trivial.”

Cruz threw up her hands. “I’m not trivializing it. I just can’t see why you let them run your life. And now you’re judging me for wanting to get out of here and make something of myself—”

Aaliyah’s cheeks burned with tears of anger. “I’m not judging you! Dammit, Cruz, I risk everything for us! We nearly got caught by Asif. My entire career’s on the line. Now your big plan is to move away?”

Their voices overlapped, tension crackling in the small apartment. The final straw snapped when Cruz, in a moment of hurt, said, “If you’re so ashamed of me, maybe it’s for the best I leave.”

Aaliyah recoiled as if slapped. “Ashamed?” Her voice trembled with pain. “You think I’m ashamed of you?”

Cruz’s anger cooled instantly, replaced by regret. But Aaliyah’s eyes shone with tears. “I can’t— I can’t do this right now.”

They stared at each other, hearts pounding. Silence stretched, raw with emotion. Aaliyah finally turned away, arms wrapped around her torso. “Maybe… we need a break. You have your final soon anyway, no reason to add more stress.”

A hollow ache settled in Cruz’s chest. “You mean… break up?” Her voice wavered.

Aaliyah didn’t meet her eyes, but she nodded slowly. “Just for now. We both have too many conflicts, too many pressures. I need to focus on finishing my TA responsibilities, dealing with my family. You need to finalize your exam, your job. Let’s… figure ourselves out before we do more damage.”

Tears pricked Cruz’s eyes, but she swallowed the lump in her throat. “I guess so.” It’s not what I want, but we’re at an impasse.

Aaliyah’s breath hitched. She forced a neutral expression, stepping aside to let Cruz gather her things. Her arms shook, but she held herself together.

Cruz lingered at the door, gaze flicking around the apartment they’d shared so many intimate moments in. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Aaliyah closed her eyes, nodding. “Me too,” she choked out, turning away.

Cruz slipped out, the door clicking softly behind her, leaving them both haunted by the finality of that farewell.

--

Two days later, the final day for Asif’s course arrived. The lecture hall buzzed with anxious students. Some leafed through flashcards, others prayed to pass. Cruz, arms weighed by textbooks, took a seat near the middle, trying to ignore the hollow ache in her chest from the fight with Aaliyah. Focus on the test. Then I can figure out everything else.

Professor Asif stood at the front, distributing exam materials with another TA. Not Aaliyah. Cruz’s heart clenched. She scanned the corner of the room—and found her. Aaliyah stood quietly behind the desk, wearing a modest blouse and pencil skirt, hair tied in a neat bun. Their gazes met for a fleeting second. Aaliyah quickly looked away, adjusting exam papers.

We’re not together now, Cruz reminded herself. The emptiness gnawed at her, but she squared her shoulders. I have to do well.

Asif cleared his throat, voice echoing in the large hall. “You have two hours to complete the exam. Turn your materials in at the front when done. No phones, no notes. Good luck.”

The exam began. Cruz bent over her paper, words a blur at first. She forced deep breaths, focusing on each question. Colonial boundaries, foreign mandates… Yes, I know this. Hours of study with Aaliyah had ingrained the knowledge. Slowly, confidence replaced her nervousness. She wrote steadily, mindful of time.

--

Halfway through, Cruz felt momentum build. She recognized every prompt, each short-answer question referencing the topics she’d dissected with Aaliyah. I can do this. She scribbled in her best academic style, referencing historical treaties, analyzing impacts. Her pen flew over the page. The hush of the exam hall enveloped them all.

Now and then, she risked a glance toward the front. Aaliyah stood with arms folded, scanning the room for any sign of cheating. She never looked directly at Cruz. A pang twisted Cruz’s gut. We said we’d break. Doesn’t mean I stop caring.

Finally, the end approached. Students rose, turning in their sheets, hushed footsteps echoing. Cruz double-checked her answers, heart thrumming. She felt good about it, like she’d done everything right. Time to submit.

She gathered her exam pages, inhaling one last steadying breath. Then she strode to the front, where Asif and Aaliyah stood behind a table. The professor busied himself with another student’s question. Aaliyah took Cruz’s materials.

Their eyes met, a thousand unsaid words brimming. The tension soared as Aaliyah’s fingers brushed Cruz’s in passing. The same electric spark—only now tinted with heartbreak and longing.

Cruz lingered a heartbeat, voice caught in her throat. The moment stretched. Neither spoke, but in that fleeting contact, regret and tenderness flared. Aaliyah’s eyes glistened with something akin to apology, or perhaps farewell.

Asif turned, noticing Cruz. “All set, Ms. Manuelos?” he asked, distant politeness in his tone.

Cruz broke from the spell, nodding at him. “Yes, sir. Done.” She mustered a half-smile at Aaliyah, stepping away. Another student jostled past, forcing Cruz to move on. So that’s it.

Leaving the lecture hall, she felt oddly weightless. The exam was over—the taboo no longer pinned them. But the hollow ache in her chest remained, overshadowing any victory. I did great on the test, but lost the person I love. Is it too late?

--

Outside, a gust of warm spring air greeted Cruz. She let out a long exhale, mentally replaying the test questions she’d aced. Pride battled heartbreak, and heartbreak weighed heavier. Her phone vibrated with congratulatory texts from classmates, but she ignored them. All I want is to share this relief with Aaliyah.

In the lecture hall, Aaliyah gathered leftover exam papers, methodically stacking them. Asif left to meet with other faculty, leaving her alone with the silent ache of seeing Cruz so close yet so far. She’s free now, no longer my student. But we’re parted by anger and fear.

She pressed a hand to her temple. We just need time. Maybe after final grades are in, we can talk. The memory of Cruz’s quiet longing at the front table haunted her. We’re both hurting.

--

That night, Cruz locked herself in her dorm room, ignoring the rowdy celebrations outside. Final exams done, seniors partied with abandon. She scrolled through messages—some from Bobby, urging her to join a big post-finals blowout. She declined. Not in the mood.

Instead, she mulled the upcoming Zoom call with UNOCHA. She’d likely get an offer if the interview went well. But what about Aaliyah? We parted on such awful terms. She stared at her phone, tempted to text an apology or a plea. Yet she remembered Aaliyah’s tearful face, the final words. She wanted space.

A deep, hollow ache settled in her gut. She was on the verge of everything she’d wanted academically, but it felt incomplete without Aaliyah. For the first time, she wondered if success always came with heartbreak.

--

Aaliyah, alone in her apartment, poured over exam scanning, cross-checking answer keys with Asif’s instructions. The methodical process usually calmed her. Tonight, though, each line reminded her of Cruz. She recalled the soft brush of Cruz’s hand when she turned in her exam, the unspoken sorrow in those eyes.

Shoving her papers aside, she paced. We had a fight, but do I want to let this end? She might go to Geneva. My family’s pressuring me. I’m suffocating. She sank onto the couch, replaying Cruz’s stinging words about how she might be “ashamed.” I’m not ashamed—just terrified.

A wave of self-reproach gripped her. Perhaps I was too harsh. I do see how important Geneva is for Cruz’s future. She typed half a text, then deleted it, uncertain how to fix the rift. “I need time,” she whispered, hugging her knees. “We’ll see how we feel once the dust settles.”

--

So the next few days passed in an uneasy hush. Cruz prepared for her UNOCHA Zoom call, forging her best professional persona, ignoring the pang each time she thought of Aaliyah. Meanwhile, Aaliyah finished grading final exams, mostly proud to see Cruz’s near-perfect answers. She’s so bright. The pang of missing her deepened.

They avoided each other’s usual haunts, burying themselves in finishing the semester’s tasks. The campus roiled with post-finals parties, but both women found no joy in them. Their brief, heated romance left them with heartbreak, and neither knew how to mend it.

Yet beneath the sorrow, a flicker of hope persisted. The final was done, the risk of academic scandal gone. Could they find each other again if they overcame family pressure, fear, and the looming separation?