Chapter 47 Chapter Forty-Seven
Vanessa POV
Dr. Jenna Han's office always smelled like green tea and old books, usually it was a comforting combination but today it made my stomach twist with anxiety.
I'd been summoned via phone call—finally after putting off her email for so long. I looked at my phone and the email she had sent me a few days ago.
"Please stop by my office at your earliest convenience to discuss your project progress"—which in professor-speak meant "get here now or face the consequences."
I clutched my folder of interview transcripts and preliminary analysis notes like a shield as I knocked on her door.
"Come in," her voice called out, crisp and professional.
I pushed open the door to find Dr. Han sitting behind her massive desk, her reading glasses perched on her nose as she reviewed what looked like a journal article.
She glanced up when I entered, and I couldn't read her expression.
"Vanessa," she said, gesturing to the chair across from her.
"Thank you for coming. Please, sit." I sat, trying to project confidence I didn't feel.
"You wanted an update on my dissertation project?"
"I did," Dr. Han said, closing the journal and giving me her full attention.
"I've been reviewing the outline you submitted last week, and I have to say, I'm impressed with the direction you're taking this."
I blinked in surprise.
"You are?"
A small smile played at the corners of her mouth.
"Don't sound so surprised. Your initial resistance to the hockey component was concerning, but now that you're actually engaging with the material—interviewing players, observing team dynamics, analyzing the psychological factors at play—the quality of your work has improved dramatically."
I felt my cheeks warm with unexpected pride.
"Thank you. I've been working really hard on it."
"I can tell," Dr. Han said, leaning back in her chair.
"I've read through the preliminary interview transcript you sent me—the one with..." she glanced at her notes,
"Ethan Martinez.” I had sent her that via mail, likely the mail that has her calling me.
“The questions you asked were insightful, and more importantly, you managed to get him to open up in ways that will provide excellent data for your analysis."
"He was more open, once he got comfortable," I said, thinking back to how nervous Ethan had been at the start of our interview.
"I think the key was making it feel like a conversation rather than an interrogation."
"Exactly," Dr. Han said, looking pleased.
"That's the mark of a good researcher—the ability to make your subjects feel safe enough to be vulnerable. Many graduate students struggle with that, especially when dealing with populations that aren't naturally inclined toward introspection."
"Hockey players definitely aren't inclined toward introspection," I agreed, then quickly added,
"No offense to hockey players."
Dr. Han laughed, a sound I'd rarely heard from her.
"None taken. I grew up with three brothers who all played hockey. I'm well aware of the culture." She paused, studying me with an intensity that made me shift in my seat.
"Can I make an observation, Vanessa?"
"Of course," I said, though my stomach clenched with worry about what she might say.
"When you first came to me about your dissertation topic, you were adamant that you wanted nothing to do with hockey. You suggested every alternative you could think of—football, basketball, swimming, even competitive chess." Dr. Han smiled at the memory.
"I pushed you toward hockey anyway because I believed you needed to confront whatever resistance you had to the sport. And now, looking at your work, I see something interesting happening."
"What's that?" I asked quietly.
"You're not just studying hockey anymore," Dr. Han said.
"You're understanding it as a sport,appreciating it, even.”
I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it. Because she was right. Somewhere between conducting interviews and watching practice sessions and listening to Danny talk about plays and strategies, I'd stopped seeing hockey as the enemy and started seeing it as... just a sport.
A complex, fascinating sport with its own culture and psychology, but still just a sport.
"I think," I said slowly, choosing my words carefully,
"I'm learning to separate the sport from the people who play the sport. Hockey didn't do anything to me—the people playing it did.” Dr. Han nodded encouragingly.
"That's significant growth, Vanessa. And I suspect it has something to do with a certain hockey team captain?"
My face flushed hot.
"I—we're not—"
"Relax," Dr. Han said, waving away my flustered response.
"I'm not going to report you to some academic ethics committee. As long as your relationship isn't compromising the integrity of your research, it's none of my business. Though I will say," she added with a knowing smile,
"Personal investment in your subject matter can sometimes lead to the most compelling research. Just maintain your objectivity when analyzing your data."
"I will," I promised.
"I've been very careful to separate my personal feelings from my professional observations and he isn't a sample for my data"
"Good," Dr. Han said. She pulled out a calendar and flipped through it.
"I'd like to see a full draft of your first three chapters by the end of next month. Can you do that?"
Next month. That was only four weeks away. I mentally calculated how many more interviews I needed to conduct, how much analysis I still had to complete, how many hours I'd need to spend writing—
"Yes," I heard myself say.
"I can do that."
"Excellent," Dr. Han said.
"And Vanessa? Keep up the good work. You're on track to produce something really special here."
I left her office feeling lighter than I had in weeks.
Dr. Han—my academic idol, the professor whose approval I'd been desperately seeking since day one—was impressed with my work. More than that, she'd noticed my growth, acknowledged the personal journey I'd been on alongside the academic one.
I deserved a drink, not that I would get one,my phone buzzed as I walked back across campus, and I smiled when I saw Danny's name.
How did it go with Dr. Han?
Really well, I typed back. She loves the project. Says I'm "understanding" hockey now.
You are, Danny replied immediately. You're basically an expert at this point.
I wouldn't go that far, I wrote, but I was grinning.
Dinner tonight? I want to celebrate your success.
We just had a date two days ago, I pointed out, even though the prospect of seeing him again made my heart skip. He responded immediately.
So? I like dating you. Sue me.
I was about to respond when another text came through.
Also I have a surprise for you. Dress warm.
I hate surprises, I typed automatically.
You love MY surprises, Danny countered. Pick you up at 7?
I pretended to think about it for a whole three seconds before responding.
See you at 7