Noted with Reservations

CHAPTER 3: Efficiency

The lecture hall smelled old and was cramped. Waeren chose the very back, a spot where he could see everything without being noticed much.

"Here?" I whispered. "I thought you were a front-row overachiever. Why are we in the back?"

"Efficiency," he replied without looking up.

"From here, I can see the projector and the exits. Fewer distractions."

He took out his laptop, a high-end unit with a price tag enough to buy a small plot of land. Beside it, I placed my cheap notebook and a ballpen that constantly ran out of ink.

"Take notes. Every date, every architect, every structural innovation," he ordered while rapidly typing CAD commands.

"Seriously? I’m your PA, not your encoder," I complained, but I started writing anyway.

As the professor talked about Gothic Architecture, I noticed how fast Waeren’s hand moved the mouse. Every line on his screen was perfect. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Too serious," I muttered.

"Precision is not a choice, Cruz. It’s a requirement."

"I know. But sometimes, those flying buttresses? They were made because someone messed up at first. Errors lead to innovation, Waeren. Not everything straight is beautiful."

He stopped typing. He turned to me, so close that I could smell the peppermint on his breath again.

"And sometimes, errors lead to collapse," he countered. "I’d rather be boring and stable than interesting and broken."

I looked into his eyes. There was a flicker of sadness there that he quickly hid. I’m blunt, yeah, but I also know how to read people. Behind the blueprints and strict deadlines, there was a wall he was forcing himself to build—sturdier than any actual building.

Class ended with my notebook full of notes and my mind full of questions about him.

"We’re done for now," he said, closing his laptop.

"I have a meeting. Wait for my text tomorrow morning. 6:00 a.m. sharp."

"6:00 a.m. again?! Waeren, I’m a human, not an alarm clock!"

"You're my assistant, Cruz. Act like one."

I watched him walk out, the new shirt I bought him moving with every step. I was left alone in my seat, exhausted but with my mind wide awake.

I grabbed my pen and, on the very last page of my notebook, wrote something that wasn't about the History of Architecture.

Waeren: 90% logic, 10% mystery, 0% tolerance for me.

I gave a bitter smile. I’ll eventually figure out how to break a man built from pure stone and concrete.