by Titoxz
My doctoral defense arrived sooner than expected. I stood at the front of a stuffy room, reading from the final draft of “Instrumental Reason and the Commodification of Human Experience.” In that dissertation, I indicted every institution that traded moral integrity for financial gain. The faculty committee included some sympathetic figures, but the session turned tense when corners of academia accused me of offering no solutions. I argued that once a system was so diseased, mere reforms amounted to cleaning a window when the foundation was crumbling. They conferred, shot glances both curious and wary, then passed me with distinction.
Igor was there, arms folded in the back, an inscrutable smile on his face. Elena grasped my hand once the committee announced their verdict, relief shining in her eyes. When Igor finally approached to congratulate me, his words carried hidden barbs about how bleak my worldview had become. I gave him a half-smile, feeling Elena’s gentle presence remind me not to lash out.
As we walked away later, Elena’s fingers twined with mine. I spoke little. The heaviness of condemnation hung over me—I had just publicly validated my own conviction that the world was rotten to its core. And yet, there was a shy exultation in knowing that I laid it all out, without compromise, under the institutional glare.
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