8 Minutes

"It'll take about eight minutes for us to get to the Cloud Deck," his striking blue eyes wavered on the blinking elevator rings indicating our swift ascent from floor to floor. 

At first, I'd found his appearance to be underwhelming: Closely cropped hair, clean-shaven, and a complexion resembling papyrus. As I got to know Professor Whitelock, I grew to wonder if he purposefully kept his air unnoticeable. 

Blue eyes that rarely stayed focused on mine. Blond hair barely noticeable due to its length. Knuckles grasped to maintain that calm expression on his face. Was he ashamed of being of "Aryan" descent? Was he trying with all his might to mute the traces of his heritage?

There was no denying it. He was German in every physical sense, but internally, he'd forged himself from a different metal. He taught in English, spoke like an American, and acted like he'd walked out of a foreign magazine. It's as if he's learned to reject himself. I felt like hunting down whoever made him grasp his knuckles like that and making them regret their existence. After all, they'd made my professor do the same. 

"Don't worry, the heart is just a muscle," he quotes the Mountain Between Us. He must have observed how lost in thought I'd been and assumed it was nervousness. I didn't have the courage to adjust his misconception.

The silence between us—filled with mindless music—was laced with something thicker.

               The elevator dinged *6 Minutes*

"We should design an element to place in the elevator while sightseers wait in here," I suggested. "Something to keep them occupied before they reach the top. Maybe record a history track they can listen to if necessary?"

"Or we could make the elevator faster," he responded.

"The mechanics-"

"-just don't warrant a speedy ascent," he retorted and I couldn't help but chuckle. It's always been like this between us. The moment I got comfortable around him, we started finishing each others' sentences as if we were of one mind. He asks, "Are you laughing at me making fun of you?"

"Is it illegal to find my supervisor humorous?"

The air lifted, "Surely not." His smile turned rueful, "So much time has passed. You're now a far cry from that nervous undergraduate who I offered a position to six years ago-"

A slight shadow falls under my eyes beneath the bright elevator lights, "-and now it's all coming to an end." In less than six minutes, those elevator doors will open, I'll give a speech and cut a ribbon, then we'll have absolutely nothing to do with each other. There'll be no reason for us to clash with each other, tease each other, or laugh together. Heck, there won't even be a cause for us to talk. It will all be over. Am I ready for that? Am I ready to never smile with him again?

"The Cloud Deck was not an easy project to undertake. You oversaw a project that constructed the tallest monument the world has ever seen. You should be proud of yourself," he praises. 

"You know I've always struggled with being content with my work-"

"-which is why I'm emphasizing how proud you should feel-"

"-as usual." I don't know how long it'd been since we'd fallen into each others' eyes. Only when his gaze began to waver once more did I realize there was more meaning in them than I'd ever seen before.

              The elevator dinged *4 Minutes*

"I'd never gotten around to asking..." we began simultaneously.

"Please, you first," he said, ever the gentleman.

"Professor Whitelock," I began. 

"Yes?"