“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Jenny was a small-town girl with big dreams. In her sophomore year of high school, she joined the math league to prove to the boys in her class that girls can do it too. It was a bit of a struggle at first: precalculus was the only B on her report card, but she eventually got the hang of it and became captain of the team her senior year. Because of her staunch determination and will to succeed, Jenny earned a full scholarship to the engineering program at Carnegie Mellon. It was a break that she needed because her family couldn’t afford college. Jenny was the first in her family to seek higher education and only applied herself in school because she was sort of bored–mostly with the boys in her town.

When Jenny arrived in Pittsburgh, she was caught off guard again. Yet, having gotten off to a slow start in her high school math league, Jenny knew what it was like to come back from behind. The engineering program at Carnegie Mellon was, again, mostly boys—the kind that you didn’t take a second glance at (no offense). In the spring semester of freshman year, Jenny went to her Engineering Statistics midterm office hours: a new development because Jenny wasn’t initially aware that attending office hours could help her grade. It was an intimate setting—five, maybe eight people max–but someone caught Jenny’s eyes that day.

His name was Dale. Tall, slim–but fit–and handsome in a sort of unusual, European kind of way. Dale, a native of Pittsburgh, sat across from Jenny and was inquisitive and relentless in his pursuit of understanding linear regression, a quality Jenny could immediately relate to given her penchant for success. Jenny has never experienced love before—sure, a few crushes here and there in high school—but the boys where she came from and in her engineering program just didn’t really spark any flames. Something about Dale was different: maybe it was the European flair. She didn’t quite know and couldn’t put a handle on it. Jenny and Dale made eye contact a few times, but that office hour came and went pretty quickly and the two parted ways without words exchanged.

A couple of years passed, and Jenny is now in her third year at Carnegie. She’s grown quite a bit in her understanding of linear algebra and advanced mathematics and has started outpacing most of her peers. People are starting to notice: a lone heroine on a traditionally male-dominated path. Jenny noticed it too, as the other girls started distancing themselves from her more and more. Perhaps out of jealousy; perhaps out of admiration and respect. Who knows why, and does it really matter at the end of the day? To be alone is to be alone and the reason is not really that important.

Jenny graduated magna cum laude in aerospace engineering and started a job at NASA the following year. She was no longer running with the boys; she was now running with men. Men twice, three times her size, married with children and egos as big as their jawlines. Once more, Jenny felt out of place and struggled to adjust to the grind. Carnegie prepared her well for the job, but you can’t fake experience. At one of the company’s employee happy hours, who does Jenny run into none other than Dale?

“I’m Jenny. Do we know each other?”

“Yes, I think we knew each other at Carnegie,” said Dale.

“I remember you,” Jenny replied. “I don’t think I ever saw you after that office hour that one year. How’d you end up doing in that class?”

“I don’t know; I dropped out.”

“You dropped out?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” asked Jenny.

 “Carnegie wasn’t for me,” said Dale. “I work in the visual arts now as a creative.”

“Oh, that’s not something you hear every day.”

Jenny did not know what to say; she had spent her entire life crossing her t’s and dotting her i’s. Such was the life of a mathematician: there was always a right answer, and there was always a proof. She had always dreamed big, but a path in the arts was not somewhere her dreams ever dared venture. Nevertheless, the night went on, and the two talked on. One drink led to another, and the night ended with an exchange of numbers.

“I’ll call you.” Dale said.

“You better.” Jenny replied.

On the cab ride home, Jenny didn’t know what to think. In her youth, she joined the math league to prove the boys wrong. Now, she’s made it all the way to NASA and her future looked as bright as ever, but she can’t help feel like there’s something more to achieve. Jenny realized on that cab ride that math had been a mere instrument for her to slip into a more glamorous life. The logic, the proofs, the late nights, the high of scoring top of her class: there was still something missing at the end of the day. It’s just dopamine, Jenny thought to herself. It’s not love.

It was an epiphany Jenny was not expecting. When she got home, Jenny hung up her coat, took a shower, picked up her phone and—from memory—dialed 4-1-2-6-8-3-2-1-5-7.

“Hello?” Dale answered the phone.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Jenny asked.

“No, I don’t.”