Joanna stood in front of her neuroscience lab, dark eyes widening as she flipped through the pages of the journal in her hand.

He had written about her.

The grounds of the campus rang quiet, coated in the evening sky and the smell of rest. It was summer break, after all. Most of the undergraduate and master’s degree students were back home, tucked into BBQs and pool parties, giggling with their boyfriends and girlfriends.

Joanna, like most other researchers, was on campus.

Holding Mike’s journal in her hand.

Mike, the colleague whom she had had an unrequited crush on for six years. Mike, who was unmistakably shy, never spoke to her without being prompted. Mike, who was rated “best mentor” by all his students because of the time and care he took with their research, treating it with as much gravity as his own.

Poems about her name. The curve of her waist. The ideas in her research. About her middling attempts at amateur standup hour.

The journal was staggering in its diversity, breathtaking in its emotion, its devotion.

It was definitely Mike’s journal. The single scrawled M at the front of the journal was his distinctive signature. It matched how he signed birthday cards for other researchers (never her). It matched a tattoo she’d seen on his wrist, years ago, when he had rolled up his sleeves to lean over and cut a cake at a campus event. She could see him writing this in his office, staring intently at his screen, late into the night.

She blinked down at it, clamping down on her feelings. She had to know what was going on. Why was he writing like this about her? Did he… like her? Unlikely, her inner critic whispered.

She knew where he lived.

All the researchers - well, almost all anyway - lived in a serene corner of the campus. Inviting little white houses with snug patches of green. Lifelong subsidized rent and a little community of peers.

Joanna stomped over there with the journal in hand. Her long brown hair swung wildly behind her.

He opened the door after the first knock. Mike was tall, but so was Joanna. He took one look at her and stilled. They had never spoken alone before.

“Is this yours?” asked Joanna, holding the journal up for him to see. She wasn’t sure why she was being so antagonistic. Her heart thudded in her ears.

Mike looked at the journal and then at her. He seemed stunned. His eyes - swirls of green and gold - never left her face.

Joanna stepped back, suddenly out of breath.

“Yes,” said Mike, keeping eye contact.

Joanna’s heart beat faster. “What does it mean?”

He hesitated.

“Why are you writing about me, Mike?” Joanna’s anger was slowly rising. He had written sonnets about her while ignoring her for years. Now he couldn’t talk to her about it?

His face tensed. “What do you think it means?” he said.

“You tell me,” she said, her sharp tone belying her nerves. “You could be stalking me, Mike. Some crazy person could have hired you to watch me. You could have books like this about everyone.” You could be in love with me. She squashed that thought as fast as she could. He had given her no indication that he was interested. Except the journal full of love letters and sonnets. Hope was a fickle, fickle thing.

His eyes were stricken now. “I’m not a stalker. I just... How did you even find this journal?”

“It was on the floor of the lab.”

“And… what did you think?”

“I didn’t know what to think, Mike!” she replied. I was hopeful. Happy. Seen. “That’s why I’m here.”

Mike sighed at that, his dark eyes suddenly flashing with pain. Joanna paused. Had she messed this up?

“It’s made up, Joanna,” he said wearily, looking away at last. “It’s not real. It’s from the simulator.”

Joanna’s rage switched so fast into disappointment that it was disorienting. The simulator was a secretive, cutting edge invention Mike’s team had been working on for the past three years. She wasn’t a part of that project because her own research focused on memory formation. Several large companies had already expressed interest in buying the simulator. She didn’t know it was already producing outputs. The journal must be one of the early prototypes.

“Oh,” she said, her face turning scarlet.

His eyes were darker now. “Yeah, we just put someone’s name into it and the simulator... writes things about them. It was an experiment that went wrong. I’m so sorry. You’re a colleague, and I should never have put your name into it.”

Her disappointment surrounded them like a thick blanket, coating his words. She watched him realize it, regret sweeping across his face.

“I’m sorry it scared you.”

“It’s fine,” Joanna sighed, shoving the journal back into his hands. “I’m not scared, I’m.. fine. We’ll just pretend this never happened. Okay?”

His jaw ticked. “Sounds good.”

She made her way back to her desk at the lab, feeling irrationally angry at herself and at Mike. He didn’t like her. He just… used her name for his stupid experiment.

Later that night, right before sleep stole over her, she suddenly sat up. There was no way the lab gave the simulator permissions to write about another person like that. It couldn’t have. She’d been wrestling with their ethics board for years for far less invasive permission settings. Why did he lie?

Six months later, the simulator was finally ready. The lab threw a party to celebrate Mike and his team. Joanna celebrated alongside the other researchers, the taste of their shared victory dark and sweet on her tongue. Like a piece of chocolate carved from the finest cocoa, decadent with just a small hint of bitterness. She looked around, carefully, discreetly.

He wasn’t there.

“Where’s the rest of the team?” she asked her colleague Ben, reaching over him to grab a drink. “I don’t see Tom or Mike anywhere, for example?” Her tone was almost careless.

“Tom wouldn’t miss this for the world. He’s over there talking to the band,” laughed Ben. “And since when do you want to know what Mike is doing? He’s probably back in the lab, packing.”

Joanna turned around at that.

“What do you mean, packing?” she asked slowly. “Where’s he going?”

“Didn’t you hear? He’s moving. To London.”

“London?” Joanna blinked, scanning her memory for anything that may fit this new fact. Mike didn’t have a British accent. He had given her no indication that he was from the UK. He sounded American. Midwestern.

“Oh, I thought everyone knew. He’s been recruited by the British National Health Service. He’s going to be a part of their neuroscience team, using the simulator to help kids with mental health issues work on their self-esteem.“

“He didn’t tell me anything about that,” she muttered, unreasonably angry. He was leaving?

“It’s beautiful, actually. He’s struggled with his own self esteem for so long. I’m thrilled he’s able to help others with this. Honestly, it’s incredible that he is even talking to you. He’s liked you for so long and was so sure that you didn’t like him back.”

“He…. what?”

“Oh,” said Ben slowly. “Uh.. nothing? What did you both talk about?”

She turned and ran to the lab.

Mike was tucked away at the back, as always. Bent over his laptop, muttering away at it.

“You’re moving?” she stormed up to him.

“Joanna,” he straightened.

“When were you going to tell me you’re moving?”

“Are you always going to come up to me angry?” His smile was crooked.

Joanna scowled. “I just… you’re giving me these mixed signals, Mike. You clearly lied about the journal... I can’t believe I bought that, by the way... And then Ben said…“

“I’m sorry, Joanna,” Mike admitted. “I panicked. I told myself for six years that you didn’t need to be hit on at work, and there you were, eyes flashing, so brave and so beautiful. I…” he looked away, eyes darkening.

Her heart swelled. Ben’s voice echoed in her ears. He’s struggled with his own self esteem for so long.

“I’m here now, Mike,” she said, holding out her hand. “But don’t lie to me ever again.”

RECOMMENDATIONS

If you enjoyed this, you may also like:

• Book: Ali Hazelwood’s Love on the Brain, a love story about two vegan arch-enemy neuroscientists finding their way to each other.

• Visual Art: Leonora Carrington’s Dear Diary - Never Since We Left Prague, a painting about inner longing that intentionally leaves many questions unanswered.

• Music: Fade Into You, by Mazzy Star, a haunting, ethereal song about overwhelming love and connection.

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