Word Counts & Formatting Requirements

And then night fell. I was standing in the kitchen of a massive three-bedroom apartment on the forty-fourth floor of a beautiful Brisbane building. The kitchen had a glass splashback, so you could see out onto the river and botanical gardens as you sliced your food. I paid way less for my room than was probably reasonable, given the quality of the place. It wouldn't have been much cheaper to rent a one-bedroom elsewhere. I lucked out, yet again.

I felt two arms wrap around me.

"Move out of the way," a voice whispered in my ear as I was shuffled to the side. "I need to get to the cupboard."

I turned around to see a tall, athletic man with olive skin and a handsome face staring back at me, topless. He had muscles in places I didn't even know existed.

"Geez! Put a shirt on," I said as I moved to the side.

"I'm trying to cook you vegan risotto in the middle of a Queensland summer, and it's rather humid in here," he replied as he located the salt.

"I honestly don't know how you survive in that body. You're basically a furnace."

He made a stupid Zoolander face. "So hot right now."

I giggled. "Show me the face again."

"Blue steel or magnum?"

"Blue steel."

He turned away from me, then looked over his shoulder, lips pursed.

I burst out laughing.

"You're kinda fun for an academic," I said. "And almost a Ph.D!"

"I'm so close to finishing! Did you end up reading my draft?"

"Yeah, I'm nearly done with it. I also made that graphic for you, so you need to have a look and see if I it's what you want."

"Ah," he sighed. "That's super helpful. I can't draw diagrams to save my life. What did you think of the paper?"

"It's great, as far as I am concerned. But I know nothing about all the rules and regulations of academia. Word counts, and formatting requirements, and-"

"Ugh, I know. Count yourself lucky. That's probably the worst part about it."

I leaned over the pan and inhaled. "Mmmm, that smells like sweet, sweet, vegan goodness, right there."

"Didn't you use to be a vegetarian?" he asked. "How long did that last?"

"About ten years."

"Impressive.

"Yeah, well, I began eating fish again after eight years because I was doing a lot of exercise and not getting much protein in the boarding house. And I was anemic. My mom was so excited when I agreed to start eating fish again, so she made fish soup for the night of my return to flesh. She served up a tomato soup with literally an entire fish in it. Like, it had its fins and its tail and its eye, just staring at me, judging me. I looked up in panic and said, 'Mom! I haven't eaten any kind of animal in over eight years. I was thinking more along the lines of fish fingers, not an entire fish.' And she was like, 'Oh, sorry! I just got a little over-excited...'"

Lucas laughed. "Well, this is all completely vegan. One hundred percent judgment-free."

I smiled. "I like it."

"I like you." He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a kiss.

"So, do you need any help with the cooking?" I asked.

"I've got it under control."

"Then what should I do?"

"Just sit back and read something."

"Okay," I said as I dashed to my room.

I roamed around my book collection and picked up the first option: The Holographic Universe. No, that wasn't a good book for the occasion. I preferred to read that one in private while marinating in hot baths.

Underneath it sat a little book of philosophy — On Bullshit, by Harry G. Frankfurt. Lucas was reading it in a coffee shop, the day we met. He'd given it to me when he walked me home.

He was smart, and I liked that about him. Driven, disciplined, focused. He had a deep sense of empathy and compassion for those around him, and a strong conviction in his morals and values. We had hit it off immediately.

He was also one of the sharpest, wittiest, cheekiest men I'd ever had the pleasure of flirting with. You could write a novel from the banter we exchanged. It was rare to meet someone not only smart but creative with their words — twisting them into new combinations and puns and setting up the punchline multiple moves ahead. Not to mention, English wasn't his first language. He spoke five in total. Typical European.

But we were also fundamentally different. He came from a completely different world and lifestyle. He was an athlete in his mid-thirties who was absolutely obsessed with his sport. He successfully competed at an international level, and I saw first-hand the level of passion and dedication required to achieve that goal of his. Sport was his life.

I, on the other hand, liked staying active as much as any healthy person does. I loved the feeling of blood pumping through my veins, but you wouldn't find me voluntarily doing a physically painful and strenuous activity for fun, and that made all the difference. No thanks. I preferred to push the limits of my mind, not my body.

So it had started recently, and it was probably going to end soon. We were from two very different worlds. I stayed up late on school nights, and he had to be asleep by eight-thirty. My life was dynamic and unpredictable, while he had to be structured and disciplined to meet his goals.

And that was okay for me, at that stage in my life. I was only twenty-six. I didn't fare well with long-term commitments, anyway. My friends always joked that I only dated men with expiry dates — an escape plan agreed upon ahead of time.

I think it's because I'm terrified that no one will ever stay. I'm not good enough, or special enough, or worthy enough, to demand permanency from a fluid universe. Everything always de-creates and re-creates and changes form. Everything I have ever loved, save my family, has always shifted and moved around with such fluidity, fading in and out of focus in my life. My friends, my relationships, my hobbies and interests, my dreams and goals. One minute I'm obsessed with painting, or sculpting, or business, or coding, and the next, I couldn't care less about them. Instead, I'll be consumed by a strange fascination with the natural sciences, and you'll find me up at three a.m. in the morning reading about Lorentz transformations on Wikipedia.

I heard a knock on my bedroom door. Lucas must have finished cooking while I was lost in thought.