Mentor’s Map

The hallway outside Dr. Patel's office smelled faintly of old wood and floor polish, the scent of generations of nervous students lingering like ghosts between the baseboards. Sarah stood a few feet from the door, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Mia leaned against the wall across from her, nearly invisible in the morning light that pooled between the tall windows. She watched as Sarah adjusted the strap of her backpack, eyes flicking toward the brass nameplate on the door.

"Go on," Mia whispered softly, though the words wouldn't reach.

Sarah inhaled slowly and knocked.

Inside, a chair scraped.

"Come in," called a voice—measured, calm, curious.

Dr. Patel's office was lined in rich oak shelves, each packed with books ordered by subject and size. Framed degrees decorated the wall: Harvard, Oxford, Stanford. Between them hung photographs of fieldwork, faded maps, and a pinned article from a prestigious journal.

Sarah stepped inside, clutching her notebook like a shield.

Dr. Patel looked up from her desk, glasses low on her nose. "Sarah, yes?"

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you for seeing me."

Mia remained outside. She didn't need to follow.

Sarah sat across from the desk, her back straight, hands folded tightly in her lap.

"So," Dr. Patel said, folding her hands over a thin manila folder, "how can I help you today?"

Sarah hesitated only a moment. "I'm trying to figure out where to go next—what kind of career direction makes sense. I feel like I'm starting from scratch."

Dr. Patel nodded, expression neither kind nor harsh—just deeply attentive. "Have you enjoyed your coursework so far?"

"Yes. Especially psych and policy. I like learning how systems shape people—and how people push back."

"That's a good place to begin."

Dr. Patel gestured to a side table. "Would you like some tea?"

Sarah blinked. "Uh—sure."

As Dr. Patel poured, she spoke with ease. "There's no perfect roadmap. But there are ways to chart your options. You're asking the right questions."

The tea smelled faintly of cinnamon and cardamom.

Outside, Mia shifted closer to the door, just near enough to hear tone—not words.

Inside, the conversation warmed.

Dr. Patel outlined programs—fellowships, summer research labs, policy workshops. She scribbled quick arrows on a yellow notepad, notes looping from internships to scholarships to long-term pivots.

Sarah's eyes widened slightly.

"That sounds like a lot," she admitted.

"It is," Dr. Patel agreed, "but not all at once. Think of it as scaffolding. One layer at a time."

Sarah nodded, scribbling her own version beside the professor's.

Outside, Mia's shoulders eased slightly.

Then she heard it—Dr. Patel's voice, quieter now:

"There's a program through the Lenbridge Foundation. Highly competitive. You'd need at least one faculty recommendation and a public service component."

Sarah didn't reply right away.

The quiet stretched.

Inside, Sarah lowered her pen. "I've heard of it. They work with nonprofits and community systems, right?"

Dr. Patel nodded. "Exactly. It's not just academic—it's immersive. You'd be paired with a mentor for the duration and placed in a city network."

Sarah's fingers drummed lightly on her notebook. "Would I qualify?"

"You'd need a strong proposal. A reason why your story and goals matter. But you're not disqualified. Not at all."

Mia's gaze remained fixed on the door, her presence still as a breath.

Sarah tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "And if I'm not sure what my proposal is yet?"

"That's what this meeting is for," Dr. Patel said with a small smile. "We map ideas first. Then we see which ones take root."

Sarah nodded slowly.

Dr. Patel reached into a drawer and pulled out a pamphlet, the Lenbridge logo printed in subtle foil. "Take this. Read through their past placements. See if any themes spark something."

Sarah accepted it with both hands.

Outside, Mia stepped away from the wall. Not far. Just enough to stand directly in the light.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Let the warmth pass through.

Inside the office, Sarah's voice carried again.

"If I did apply… would you consider writing a recommendation?"

Dr. Patel didn't answer immediately. She removed her glasses, folded them carefully, and looked Sarah in the eye.

"Let's have another meeting next week. If you come back with a draft idea—a thread you want to follow—I'll consider it."

Sarah blinked. Then nodded. "Okay."

The tension in her shoulders eased. Not gone, but softer.

Outside, Mia smiled faintly.

The meeting wrapped with handshakes, polite thank-yous, and a calendar square penciled in.

When Sarah stepped out, she didn't see Mia. But she paused outside the door, leaned back against the wall for a breath.

Then she looked at the pamphlet in her hands.

And for the first time in a while, she let herself imagine something far ahead—something bigger than just surviving the semester.

The hallway was quieter now, sunlight stretching longer across the floor. She took one slow breath, then tucked the pamphlet into her folder. As she walked away, her steps were lighter than before—still cautious, but no longer hesitant.

Outside, the wind had picked up. Leaves danced along the brick path like tiny signals she couldn't yet read.

Mia followed at a distance, her gaze steady, her pace matching Sarah's shadow.

Not guiding anymore.

But walking alongside.

Sarah passed the central fountain, then slowed as her phone buzzed. A calendar notification blinked on the screen: "Draft fellowship idea – Mon."

She stared at it for a moment. Then tapped snooze, but didn't dismiss it.

She kept walking.

A single leaf brushed her shoulder as it fell.

And she let it.

At the corner of the path, she paused once more, turning slightly to glance over the rooftops of the academic quad. The buildings looked different now—less like stone barriers, more like invitations.

She adjusted the strap of her bag, straightened her spine, and continued on.

Behind her, Mia faded slowly with the shifting light, but her presence remained in the angle of Sarah's steps, in the steadiness of her hands.

There would be more meetings. More plans. More drafts, failures, reworks.

But for the first time, the map ahead didn't frighten her.

It called.

Somewhere ahead, a door would open. She didn't know yet what room it led to.

But she'd be ready to walk through.

And when she did, Mia would be there—not to push, not to warn.

Just to watch her choose it.

And maybe, just maybe, she'd finally walk beyond the map.