Wednesday had been long, longer than I thought a day could stretch. Ever since I returned from the weekend at home, which was three weeks ago, I have been buried in manuscript summaries, captions, and proofreading every line we would put into the archive. The project had been assigned three weeks ago, and it felt like three years had passed since I had last seen Asher Hayes. Work had consumed every moment of my life, and exhaustion had settled into my bones.
By Thursday morning, I was already moving through the motions on autopilot. The interface was almost ready, but a small glitch kept showing up. Some of the manuscript tags were not syncing properly with the search filters, and the IT students were scrambling to figure it out. I tried to focus on restructuring the summaries, double-checking dates, themes, and character information. Every time I fixed a caption, I felt a tiny spark of satisfaction, but it was always interrupted by another message from the IT team or Professor Lang reminding us of the final presentation.
Hazel had called the night before to check in. She was her usual bright self, teasing me about working late and living in the library. "You are going to die before Friday if you do not take a break," she said. I had laughed softly but promised her I would eat something. In truth, I barely remembered the last time I had had a full meal.
By Thursday evening, the team was in the lab together, trying to finalize the archive. Liam and a few others were running tests on the search function. I stayed quiet but focused, adjusting filters and checking that queries returned accurate results. I kept my head down, fixing manuscript summaries, trying to stay out of the way but ready to help if needed.
Then the problem hit. One of the main searches stopped returning the correct documents. The IT team tried everything, but the glitch refused to go away. We were all forced to stay overnight to get it fixed. June had sent me a text, offering to bring snacks, but I barely had the energy to respond. I could feel the exhaustion pressing into me, but I also knew that failure was not an option. This was our chance to shine, and the last thing I wanted was a broken demo.
By the early hours of Friday, we had solved the glitch. It had taken multiple rounds of coding and restructuring, and my eyes burned from staring at the screen for so long. Still, the interface finally worked, the summaries were complete, and the captions were polished. I leaned back in my chair, feeling my shoulders loosen for the first time in hours. The archive was ready.
The auditorium was buzzing with activity when we arrived later that morning. Chairs were lined up in rows, the projector was ready, and dozens of respectable guests had arrived. Among them, I spotted Asher Hayes again, standing with his usual calm expression, scanning the room with sharp eyes. My stomach tightened. I tried not to let him see how nervous I was.
Professor Lang and Liam had chosen us to present first. My heart raced as I carried my notes to the front. I could feel the weight of everyone's attention, but I reminded myself that I knew the project inside and out. Liam began with the technical explanation, describing the search algorithm, the database design, and the advanced filters. I followed with the English perspective, explaining the curation of manuscript summaries, the importance of clarity and accessibility, and the captions I had written.
For a moment, I felt calm. Everything I had worked on for weeks was finally being seen by people who understood it. The murmurs of approval, nods from the audience, and occasional whispers of interest made my chest warm with quiet pride.
Then Asher asked a question. His voice cut through the room clearly. "The interface looks very efficient, but how do you plan to handle manuscripts with overlapping themes or multiple historical characters? Won't it be confusing for users if the filters return too many results?"
The question made my stomach drop. Spotlights were not literally shining on me, but it felt like every eye in the auditorium was focused on my reaction. I hated being in the center like this, hated feeling vulnerable in front of people I respected. But I could not avoid the question. I took a deep breath, feeling the quiet hum of the audience around me.
"Thank you, M. Hayes," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "We have thought about that. The interface uses a hierarchical tagging system. Each manuscript is categorized by a primary theme and up to three secondary themes. The search results will show the primary match first, but users can filter by secondary themes or characters to narrow results further. We also have a preview feature, so users can see excerpts before selecting a document. This way, overlapping themes are clarified, and users can choose the documents most relevant to their search."
There was a pause, and I could feel my cheeks warming. I had answered the question fully, but it had put me on the spot more than I liked. I could see Asher nodding slightly, impressed, but it made my nerves tense even more. The professor gave me a small, encouraging smile. I tried not to glance at him directly, though I wanted to see if I had answered correctly.
After the question, the presentation continued smoothly. Liam and I demonstrated live searches, the filters, and the clean display of manuscripts. I could see guests taking notes and murmuring to each other. My mum had texted me once, wishing me luck, but I had ignored my phone to stay focused. When we finished, there was polite applause, and Professor Lang nodded approvingly. "Excellent work, everyone. This is exactly what I wanted to see."
The relief that washed over me was immense. Weeks of late nights, exhaustion, and small frustrations had led to this moment. I could feel the adrenaline slowly leaving my system, replaced by tired satisfaction.
After the presentation, the team decided to celebrate with a small dinner. We walked to a nearby restaurant, casual and crowded, laughing quietly as we shed our professional personas for a while. The IT students were joking about last-minute coding disasters, Liam teased about our dramatic reactions to glitches, and then he found me immediately, nudging me gently. "You survived," he whispered.
I let out a soft laugh. "Barely. I think my brain is fried."
"Yeah, but you handled the question," he said, eyes shining with pride. "Even if it made you want to hide forever."
I smiled faintly, letting myself enjoy the moment. The team ordered food, everyone talking over each other, but the chatter was comforting. I noticed Asher sitting slightly apart, a quiet presence in the lively chaos. He caught my eye and gave me a small smile. I felt something stir inside me, a little warmth I could not quite name.
Dinner passed in a blur of conversation, laughter, and shared relief. For the first time in weeks, I allowed myself to relax, to enjoy being with the people who had worked just as hard as I had. Emma teased me again about working late nights and living in the library, and I laughed, rolling my eyes.
Asher's question had put me in the spotlight, and even though I hated it, I realized something important. I could handle pressure. I could articulate my work clearly, and people noticed. It was a small victory, but it felt like mine.
Later, as we left the restaurant, the cool evening air brushed against my face. Liam walked beside me.
I laughed harder than I probably should have, swaying slightly as Liam leaned beside me, steadying me with his arm. The wine or whatever I had insisted on finishing was making my head spin and my words slur in ways I did not entirely care about. "You… you are ridiculous," I mumbled, bumping my shoulder against him.
He laughed, the kind of easy laugh that made everything feel lighter. "And you are… a disaster, Amara," he teased, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. "Honestly, you should not be allowed to drink so much and still walk upright."
"I… I'm fine," I slurred, wobbling again. "Mostly…" I leaned against him more than I should have, giggling. Somehow, in the haze of alcohol and relief after the project, all the tension I had been holding for weeks melted away. We walked slowly down the quiet streets, murmuring at each other, trading catty remarks and jokes that only made sense to us. Liam's presence beside me was grounding in a strange, comforting way. At one point, I almost tripped, and he caught me without even blinking.
"See? Disaster," he muttered, shaking his head with a grin.
I swayed against him, and he just laughed again, steadying me. "Just… drop me off," I mumbled, hiccupping slightly.
Liam hesitated, looking down at me with an unreadable expression. "Alright… just till your door."
I nodded, letting him lead the way, mumbling half-hearable things and laughing at nothing. The street smelled faintly of rain and the city night. For a moment, everything felt soft, fuzzy, and distant the stress, the project, even the audience from earlier.
But then I saw him. Asher Hayes. Standing a little back, leaning against his car, watching us. His expression was calm, professional, but his eyes flicked to me and then to Liam in a way I could not quite place. My chest skipped, and I felt a strange pull in the pit of my stomach.
Liam looked at him, frowning.
"I got it, Mr. Hayes. We don't want to trouble you, it's just my friend here is a little too drunk."
Asher's lips pressed into a thin line. "Actually… I can take her. You're needed at the lab anyway."
I blinked, confused, trying to focus. "Wait… me?"
"Yes," Asher said, keeping his voice smooth and professional. "You'll be safe in the car. I'll drop you home."
Liam looked at me, hesitant, then shrugged. "Alright. If you insist," he said, letting me lean more heavily on Asher than I had intended.
The car ride was quiet at first. I leaned against the seat, half-asleep, mumbling things about the project, the presentation, and Liam being ridiculous. Asher drove smoothly, his presence steady, but I could feel a tension beneath it, something in the tight set of his jaw and the slight way he kept glancing at me.
"I… I think I am fine," I slurred, leaning my head against the window.
"You are fine," he said, voice calm, but there was something unreadable in it. "Just… stay quiet for a bit."
I nodded, closing my eyes. Somewhere in the blur of the city lights and my drunken haze, I realized I had trusted him to get me home, but instead, we turned down a quiet street that I did not recognize. My heart skipped in a way I could not explain.
He glanced at me, keeping his expression professional, but I could feel the weight of his gaze. "You'll be safe," he repeated, almost as if reassuring himself as much as me.
And somehow, that was enough for now.