Ellie

The air conditioning hummed in the background, fighting the persistent New Mexico heat trying to seep through the tinted windows. Ellie sat by the glass, a stack of index cards and a thick literature textbook fanned out before her. She wore a light, oversized band t-shirt tucked loosely into a pair of high-waisted, light-wash jeans. On her feet were well-worn white canvas sneakers, dusted with the red desert sand that seemed to cover everything in Albuquerque. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a messy, claw-clip bun, a few loose strands catching the afternoon light. She looked like any other student trying to cram for a midterm between classes, idly spinning a pen between her fingers.

Mateo Vargas emerged from the back room, adjusting his cufflinks. His suit was a charcoal grey, practical and expensive without being ostentatious. He carried a manila folder under one arm like a briefcase. He stopped at the counter, ordered a black coffee, and then turned his attention to the occupied tables, his gaze settling on Ellie.

"Ellie Marionetka?" he asked, his voice smooth and professional.

She looked up, startled, knocking over her pen. "Oh. Yes. Do I... do I know you?"

"Mateo Vargas," he said, pulling out the chair opposite her without asking. He sat down, placing the folder on the table. "I'm a consultant for the university's endowment fund. We've been reviewing some accounts, and your name came up regarding a discrepancy in your scholarship disbursement."

Ellie's brow furrowed. "A discrepancy? I haven't heard anything. My payments have been automatic."

"That's the issue," Mateo said, opening the folder to reveal a sheaf of official documents. "A processing error upstream has flagged your file. The hold is administrative, but the downstream effects are immediate." He slid a document toward her. "Your tuition payment for this semester was rejected by the bursar's office this morning. Consequently, your enrollment status is now listed as 'Unpaid Pending.'"

Ellie picked up the paper, her eyes scanning the dense text. "This can't be right. I checked my student account yesterday. It said 'Fulfilled.'"

"The system updates in real-time," Mateo said, taking a sip of his coffee. "And unfortunately, the housing office operates on a separate but linked timeline. This notice here indicates a lock on your dormitory access card effective Friday."

Ellie’s grip on the paper tightened. "Friday? That's in two days. I have nowhere to go. I can't afford a deposit for a new place right now."

"Furthermore," Mateo continued, his tone remaining conversational, "your visa compliance check is scheduled for next week. If your enrollment is unresolved at that point, the Department of Homeland Security will be notified of a status violation. That triggers a deportation order."

Ellie stared at him, the color draining from her face. The casual afternoon atmosphere of the cafe suddenly felt suffocating. "You're saying... I'm being deported? Because of a clerical error?"

"I'm saying you are standing in the middle of a minefield," Mateo said. He reached into his jacket and produced a thick envelope. He placed it on top of the documents. "This is a private grant. It covers your tuition immediately. It pays for a private, furnished apartment off-campus for the rest of the year. And it retains a legal team to audit your file and ensure your visa is permanent."

Ellie looked at the envelope, then at him. Suspicion warred with desperation on her face. "Why? Why would a university fund manager care about one student's glitch?"

"I value potential," Mateo said simply. "And I require... local assistance for certain projects associated with the fund. Logistics. Organizing events. It would be a work-study arrangement of sorts. Flexible hours. Good pay."

"I... I need to think about this," Ellie stammered. "I need to talk to my advisor. Or... or أنت."

Mateo’s eyes hardened imperceptibly. "Your advisor is the one who approved the audit. And your friend..." He gestured vaguely toward the street. "He is a student. He has no power here. He cannot fix this. The only thing standing between you and a one-way ticket to Moscow is this envelope."

The cafe door chimed.

Ellie turned her head. أنت walked in, looking around.

Ellie’s eyes locked onto his. A spark of hope flared, then immediately died as she remembered Mateo sitting across from her. She looked back at Mateo, terrified.

Mateo didn't turn. He simply picked up his coffee cup.

"Ah," he said. "Speak of the devil." He gestured to the empty chair next to Ellie. "Please. Sit. We were just discussing your future accommodation, أنت."

Ellie shrank back in her chair, clutching the denial letter to her chest.

"Don't," she whispered, her eyes pleading with أنت. "Please don't."

Mateo took a slow sip of his coffee, his eyes fixed on Ellie.