Noted with Reservations

CHAPTER 11: Structural Integrity

Monday arrived with a weight that no software could calculate. This was the day of the final presentation to Waeren’s parents—the people who set the standards he had been struggling to meet since he was a child.

We stood in front of their firm’s boardroom. I was in a pencil skirt and a neat blouse, while Waeren was in his sharpest form, wearing a charcoal grey suit that felt like his armor against the world.

"I'm nervous, Waeren," I whispered, tightening my grip on the presentation boards.

"I might start shaking in front of them. I might embarrass you."

He stopped walking and faced me. He tucked a stray strand of hair back into my tie.

"Xy, look at me."

I looked at him.

"You are the most resilient structure I know. You won't collapse just because of one presentation. Just be the garden, okay? Be the life of the building. I’ll handle the concrete."

I nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

The presentation became a grueling exchange of technicalities. Waeren’s father was like a human calculator, breaking down every cost and every measurement.

But when it was my turn, when I explained why the trees had to stay and how they changed the flow of air and emotion inside the house, everyone went silent.

"It's risky," his father said, looking at me directly. "But it has character. Something that has been missing in our recent residential projects."

After the meeting, as we were exiting the building, Celine met us. Her eyes were puffy, and she was holding an envelope.

"Waeren, we need to talk. Alone," she said, not even glancing at me.

"Celine, if it's about the project, Xyloise needs to be—"

"It's about the thesis partnership, Waeren! And about the fact that you’re throwing away your future for someone who’s just a... a temporary fix!" Celine screamed.

Everything around us went still. Passing employees stared. I felt myself shrinking, that familiar sting that maybe she was right. Maybe I really was just an assistant. A shadow in Waeren’s brilliant career.

Waeren looked at Celine, then at me. He didn't hesitate. He took my hand—firm, warm, and full of conviction.

"She’s not a temporary fix, Celine," he said coldly but firmly.

"She’s the partner I chose. Not just for this project, but for everything. If you can’t respect that, then consider our thesis partnership dissolved."

"Waeren, no!" Celine cried, but Waeren didn't look back.

He pulled me along until we reached the parking lot. Once we were leaning against his car, he let go of my hand, but he stayed close to me.

"Waeren, why did you do that? That's your thesis! Your graduation is on the line!" I said, almost crying from the mix of emotions.

"Graduation is just a ceremony, Xy. But integrity? That’s structural," he said, holding both my shoulders.

"I can't build a beautiful future if I let people step on the person who taught me how to breathe again."

"But..."

"No more 'buts,' Cruz. Noted with no reservations."

He slowly lowered his head until our foreheads touched. In the middle of the parking lot, under the scorching sun, I felt all the noise stop. No more CAD files, no more site models, no more millimeters.

"I love the chaos you brought into my life, Xyloise," he whispered.

And for the first time, I didn't answer with a joke. I didn't fire back with a quip. I just leaned my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, which was just as fast as mine.