The hearing room was colder than Theo expected.
Not in temperature, exactly—though the air conditioning hummed faintly overhead—but in tone, in color, in the practiced neutrality of the space. Pale walls, generic carpet, a long table that separated "administration" from "student" like a line drawn in quiet accusation.
He sat on the left side. Alone, for now.
Across from him: three faculty members, a student affairs officer, and a woman from the university legal department who kept flipping through her notes as if she already knew how this would end.
A nameplate in front of her read Ms. Dalca, Compliance Officer.
To his right, an empty chair.
He didn't let his eyes drift to the door, even though his pulse urged him to.
"Mr. Ramirez," said the man in the center—Professor Halberd, old-school, tenure-heavy, too comfortable with authority—"we're convened today to address your involvement in the unauthorized protest last week, and subsequent concerns raised about your associations with off-campus law enforcement."
He blinked. "Associations?"
The legal officer glanced up. "We're referring to a photograph and multiple student statements referencing a uniformed officer who appeared to intervene on your behalf during a confrontation with campus security. Then escorted you away from the protest site. Do you deny this occurred?"
Theo took a breath. "No. It happened. Officer Delaney stepped in because things were escalating."
"She was off duty," Halberd said. "Out of uniform. Yet she used her authority to remove you from the scene."
"She prevented it from becoming violent."
Ms. Dalca pressed, "And you have a personal relationship with Officer Delaney?"
Theo's throat tightened. "She's my friend."
The word felt fragile in his mouth. Too soft for this place.
"Do you understand how that may be perceived as compromising?" Halberd asked, not unkindly—but with the chilling detachment of someone making a note in a file, not asking a question of a person.
He didn't answer. He didn't know how.
The door opened.
Theo turned before he could stop himself.
Mara entered—civilian clothes, posture composed but not rigid, a subtle professionalism in the way she took the empty seat beside him. She didn't look at him. Not yet. She kept her focus straight ahead, as if to say: I'm here. That's enough.
The room changed.
Just slightly.
Ms. Dalca adjusted her papers. Professor Halberd leaned forward.
"Officer Delaney, you are here voluntarily?"
"I am."
"You understand that your presence may be interpreted as undue influence in a student disciplinary matter?"
Mara's voice was calm, precise. "I'm not here to influence. I'm here to clarify. And to observe."
"Your relationship with Mr. Ramirez?"
"I met him in a professional capacity during a public incident last fall. We became friends after."
There was silence.
Then Dalca asked the question that had been circling the room from the beginning.
"Do you acknowledge that the age difference and your position as a police officer could create a power imbalance?"
Mara didn't blink. "It could. That's why we've been careful. And transparent."
"Do you see this friendship as appropriate?"
Now she looked at Theo.
Then back to the panel.
"I see it as meaningful. Necessary. And as ethical as any connection can be when built on respect, not advantage."
Halberd's pen stopped moving.
No one spoke for a long moment.
Theo felt his breath return, slow and steady.
She had shown up.
And she hadn't apologized for it.
Professor Halberd cleared his throat, glancing at the paper in front of him. "We'll now hear from two student representatives who've submitted statements regarding the nature of Mr. Ramirez's relationship with Officer Delaney."
Theo stiffened.
Kareem walked into the room first.
Theo's stomach dropped. He hadn't known Kareem would be speaking.
He didn't look at Theo as he sat in the witness chair. Didn't glance at Mara either. His voice, when it came, was steady, but guarded.
"I want to say first that I care about Theo. I've been his friend since first year. But a lot of us… we started noticing how close he was getting to this woman—this officer. She was showing up on campus, picking him up, sitting with him at cafés off university grounds. He started missing classes. Getting into conflicts."
He looked straight at the panel. "It stopped feeling like friendship. And started feeling like something else. Something with strings."
Mara didn't flinch.
Theo's hands balled into fists beneath the table.
Halberd nodded. "Do you believe this relationship is affecting Mr. Ramirez's academic progress or social wellbeing?"
"Yes," Kareem said. "Because even if nothing inappropriate is happening—people think it is. And that's enough to isolate him. To turn everything into gossip."
Ms. Dalca tapped her pen lightly. "What kind of gossip?"
Kareem hesitated. "People call her his… 'sugar mommy.'"
Mara blinked slowly. Not a wince. Just a pause—as though watching the air leave a room.
Theo burned. "Are you serious?"
Halberd raised a hand. "Mr. Ramirez, please."
But Kareem didn't backpedal. "That's what people say. That she pays for his stuff, gives him rides, protects him. That it's not friendship, it's… codependence. Or more."
Theo looked at Mara then, searching her face for something—anger, sadness, maybe shame. But she looked like a statue carved from quiet dignity. Like she'd heard worse. Like this wasn't the first time she'd been painted with names that didn't fit.
Another student stepped forward. This time, a woman from the same political science class as Theo. She didn't look hostile. Just tired.
"I don't think Theo's done anything wrong," she said. "But the truth is, this whole situation makes people uncomfortable. There are rules for professors and students for a reason. There's an age difference here. A power difference. That's not inherently wrong—but it feels off. It sets a weird example."
The panel nodded politely. The student left.
Mara finally spoke again.
"I didn't ask for attention," she said. "I didn't encourage gossip. But I also didn't shrink back when someone needed support. If my uniform makes this relationship questionable—fine. I'll take that criticism. But what's actually being judged here is not my conduct. It's the fact that people can't imagine friendship existing across differences without something illicit underneath."
Professor Halberd didn't meet her gaze. Neither did Dalca.
But someone in the back—maybe one of the student advisors—nodded, just once.
Theo cleared his throat. "Do you want me to pretend I don't know her? That I don't care about someone who's listened to me more than most professors ever have? Someone who stood beside me when security had their hands on my chest?"
Dalca's pen stopped moving.
He stood, slowly. "I don't care if it makes people uncomfortable. I'm tired of shrinking to fit what other people think is 'appropriate.' I'm tired of the jokes. I'm tired of people reducing her to a meme because they can't imagine a woman like Mara caring about someone like me unless she's getting something out of it."
He turned to the panel.
"We're not the problem. Your lack of imagination is."
Silence followed.
Sharp. Still.
Then Halberd said quietly, "Thank you. The panel will take a recess before deliberation."
Theo didn't sit back down.
Mara stood beside him.
And for once, they didn't walk out feeling like they owe anyone an explanation.
They didn't speak until they were three blocks away from the administration building.
The city felt strange—muted, like the light had dimmed by just a few shades. Theo kept his hands in his pockets. Mara walked beside him, slow and silent. No uniforms. No badge. Just her, as she always was with him: present.
They ended up back at her car.
Still, nothing.
Mara leaned against the driver's side door, arms folded across her chest. "You didn't have to defend me like that."
Theo exhaled through his nose, not quite a laugh. "I didn't do it for you."
She raised an eyebrow.
He shrugged. "I did it for me. For the version of myself that doesn't keep folding just because someone older or louder says what I care about is wrong."
She tilted her head, studying him with a softness he hadn't seen on her face in days. "You were brave there."
"Feels more like boiling over."
"Sometimes bravery looks like boiling over in the right direction."
They stood like that for a minute—nothing between them except shared air, shared weight.
Then she said, quietly, "The sugar mommy thing—"
"Don't," Theo cut in.
"No," she said. "Let me."
She looked down at the scuffed toe of her boot. "It's not just a joke. It's a way to strip a woman of nuance. Make her either a punchline or a threat. If I were a man—older, helping you—no one would've blinked. They'd call it mentorship. Maybe fatherly."
Theo leaned against the passenger door across from her. "But because you're a woman, and I'm younger…"
"It becomes sexual, suspicious, or both." Her voice was tired, but not bitter. "It erases the fact that I needed this friendship too. That I was the one listening at 2 a.m. That I was the one learning how to be—from you."
That silenced him.
Not because it shocked him—but because it mattered more than anything else that had been said all day.
He nodded. "I wish people could've heard that."
"They weren't ready to."
He smiled faintly. "You always say that. Like the world's permanently fifteen minutes behind you."
She didn't deny it.
He looked at her then, not with desperation or question—but with a kind of peace. There was nothing to ask. She had already chosen to stay in the storm.
"I don't regret it," he said. "Any of it. Even today."
She looked at him the way only someone who has felt burned by connection but still chooses it can.
"Neither do I."
The light above them flickered once as clouds moved past the sun. Mara unlocked the car.
He didn't get in right away. Just held the door, leaning in slightly.
"Do you think it'll matter?" he asked. "What did we say there?"
She paused. "Maybe not now. But later. To someone."
And that was enough for today.
They drove away slowly, the hearing fading behind them—but not the thing that brought them there. That stayed. Quiet, steady, undeniable.
.
.
.
.
.
End of Chapter 7