Page 124 of The Tartan Thesis

“Come in.”

She looks up as I enter, her glasses low on her nose, peering at me over the top of them. “Ah, Mr. Ramsay,” she says. “Good to see you. Come. Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” I say, lowering myself into the chair opposite her desk.

Her office is exactly as I remember it. Nothing aside from the fresh flowers around the room has changed. How is so little different in here when everything is so different for me?

The professor removes her glasses before fixing me with her gaze. “Now, tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”

She tilts her head in a way that makes me hope she’s teasing. Even after knowing her for nine months, she’s still hard to read.

“Sorry, Professor,” I say, shifting in my seat. “I was working on a new topic for my thesis. It took some time to build my proposal.”

She watches me in silence, eyes tracking over my face. Then she leans forward. “Torin,” she says, firm but not unkind, “my job as your advisor… is to advise. You don’t need to present me with something fully formed before we discuss it.”

“I know,” I say. “I should’ve talked to you sooner. It was just… a difficult term.”

Her gaze lingers before she hums softly and reaches out her hand.

I pass her my proposal.

She picks up her glasses again, settling them back on her nose, then begins to skim, occasionally pausing as her finger traces a line or taps at the margin.

I try to keep still, but my foot has started a restless tap against the floor, and my palms are sweating. I press them against my thighs.

Another page turns. Then another.

After an age, she looks up, and I have no idea what she’s thinking.

“Tell me, Torin,” she says as she lowers her glasses slightly and peers at me over the rim, “why did you change your topic? You were so invested in the loss of Highland culture at the hands of the British government. I didn’t think you would be willing to pursue anything else.”

I sigh. “It’s a long story, Professor.”

“I am a historian,” she says. “I adore long stories.”

I consider how much to tell her. I’ve been keeping it in for so long that a full recap will almost certainly result in tears, and I can no longer tell where certainty ends and assumption begins. The last thing I want is to drag Beau’s name through the mud if I’ve been wrong, especially after our recent truce. So I decide to stick with the facts as I understand them.

“I’ll start with the short version,” I say and take a deep breath. “Essentially, I found out that Beau is working on a very similar topic to me, and I want my thesis to be distinct.”

She blinks at me, and her expression is finally one I can read. She thinks I’m an eejit.

“I’m not sure where you got your information, Mr. Ramsay, but Mr. Fontenot is putting his business background to good use and researching the economic consequences of Scottish colonization attempts. I have already approved his proposal.”

I stare at her, my brain trying, and failing, to comprehend.

“But I saw a proposal with his name on it,” I say. “It was about British tactics in suppressing the Highlands.”

She hums softly. “Oui, that was one of many topics he submitted during his first term. He had quite the list when he arrived here, and I helped him refine it over time. He drafted many proposals as an exercise to see where his interests and knowledge overlapped. He expressed interest in Highland atrocities for a time, but he removed it from his list of possibilities at the start of term. He has been pursuing historical economic research ever since.”

Beau met with Professor Moreau immediately after the holidays? Then what were all of those notes?

My mind swims, and it must show on my face because the professor gives me a meaningful look.

“You should know,” she says, her voice gentle, “that when I met with Beau at the start of term, I made him once again go through his full list of possible research topics with me. He had to give me cogent rationale for why each one would or would not work. Only once I was satisfied with his reasoning did I approve his proposal.”

I’m not sure where she’s going with this. “That makes sense,” I say, my brain still foggy. “Did you want to do that with my list of topics?”

“I do,” she says simply. “I think your original proposal was excellent, and so is this one, but I want you to think carefully. Your thesis could define the trajectory of your career. I will approve either, but I require a compelling reason for the one you choose.”