My master’s program was what’s called “low-residency.” What this means is that twice per year all of the students in the program meet up with the faculty for a 10-day residency, and the rest of the semester you work remotely with a faculty mentor. This story happened at one of those residencies, about five years ago.
I was a late arrival to my educational path, so I start my Master’s degree when I was 38. I was in my second residency, having one semester in the bag, and I have now lost that awkward nervousness that accompanied my first. Everything was going great.
Lauren, another student who’s in her third residency, and I begin to flirt a little. It’s fairly harmless, and she’s 15 years younger than I am, but it’s fun and engaging and helps pass the long hours with effectively nothing to do. The residencies take place at a remote location, isolated from any sort of city or town to go enjoy, so after classes and academic work ends (around 8 PM), there’s very little to keep entertained except drinking and socializing with one another.