You can pretend everything's fine for only so long before your body starts telling the truth your mouth won't.
Week three started with a team meeting.
Dr. Chen sat in on their progress review, along with two senior engineers from the accessibility team.
"Team Seven, let's see what you've got," Dr. Chen said.
Maya presented their UI mockups. Alex and Jordan walked through their testing protocols. David explained the technical architecture.
And Ethan demoed the backend he'd built—the core engine that powered the screen reader, handling text parsing, context analysis, and voice synthesis.
The senior engineers asked questions. Tough questions. Questions about edge cases and performance optimization and scalability.
Ethan answered every one.
When the demo ended, Dr. Chen smiled.
"This is excellent work. Really excellent. You're ahead of schedule and the quality is top-tier." She looked at Ethan. "The backend architecture is particularly impressive. Clean, efficient, well-documented. Nice job."
"Thank you."
After the meeting, one of the senior engineers—a woman named Lisa Park—pulled Ethan aside.
"That was really solid work. Have you thought about what you want to do after graduation?"
"Find a job. Support my family." The answer came out more blunt than he intended.
Lisa laughed. "Fair enough. But I'm serious—if you keep producing work at this level, you'll have offers. Good ones. Companies pay well for talent like yours."
"I hope so."
"Don't hope. Expect it." Lisa handed him her card. "Stay in touch. I'd like to see where you end up."
Ethan pocketed the card and tried to feel excited.
A senior engineer thought he was talented. Thought he had a future.
But all he could think about was the fact that he'd skipped breakfast that morning because he'd run out of bananas and didn't want to spend money on anything else.
Wednesday brought the free company lunch.
Ethan had been looking forward to it all week—a real meal that he didn't have to pay for or prepare.
The spread was impressive: sandwiches, salads, fruit, chips, cookies, drinks.
Ethan loaded his plate, trying not to look as hungry as he felt.
"Dude, leave some for the rest of us," Marcus joked, looking at Ethan's piled plate.
"Sorry. I skipped breakfast."
"You always skip breakfast." This from James, who rarely spoke. "And lunch yesterday. And lunch on Monday."
Ethan felt his face heat. "I've been busy—"
"Or broke," Marcus said bluntly. "Come on, man. We're not stupid. You take the bus instead of the shuttle. You never go out. You eat like a bird. You're obviously trying to save money."
The cafeteria seemed to go quiet, though rationally Ethan knew no one else was paying attention.
"I'm not broke," he said, voice tight. "I'm just being careful."
"Careful is one thing. Starving yourself is another." Marcus's tone softened slightly. "Look, no judgment. We've all got different financial situations. But you're allowed to eat, man. The company gives us free lunch on Wednesdays. Take advantage of it."
"I am taking advantage of it."
"Good. Because you look like you've lost weight since you got here."
After lunch, Ethan went to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror.
Marcus was right.
His face looked thinner. His clothes hung a little looser.
He'd been so focused on stretching his budget that he hadn't noticed he was actually losing weight.
I'm fine, he told his reflection. This is temporary. Three more months and I'm back to normal.
But the reflection didn't look convinced.
Thursday night, the video call with Vanessa went badly.
She'd had a rough day—one of the kids at the community center had a meltdown, Lily was still stressed about college, and Sarah had been unusually quiet all week.
"I think your mom's worried about something," Vanessa said. "She won't tell me what, but she's been checking her phone constantly and she canceled on coffee with Mrs. Chen."
"Did you ask her about it?"
"Of course I asked. She said she's fine. But she's not fine, Ethan. I can tell."
"Maybe it's just—adjustment. Getting used to being healthy again."
"Maybe." Vanessa didn't sound convinced. "I wish you were here. You'd know what to ask her. You'd know how to get her to talk."
"I can call her—"
"It's not the same and you know it."
Ethan felt a flash of frustration. "What do you want me to do, Vanessa? Come home? I'm three thousand miles away doing exactly what everyone told me I should do. I can't fix everything from here."
"I'm not asking you to fix everything. I'm just—" She stopped. "Never mind."
"What?"
"Nothing. I'm tired. And I'm taking my stress out on you. I'm sorry."
"No, tell me. What were you going to say?"
Vanessa was quiet for a long moment. "I was going to say that I'm handling all of this alone and it's harder than I thought it would be. Your mom, your sister, the community center, my own classes. And I know you're working hard and I know this internship is important, but sometimes I just—I wish you were here."
"I wish I was there too."
"Do you? Because you seem really focused on the internship. Which is good, that's what you should be doing. But Ethan, when's the last time you asked me how I'm really doing? Not just 'how are things,' but really asked?"
Ethan opened his mouth, then closed it.
She was right.
Their calls had become transactional—updates, logistics, brief check-ins before they were both too tired to talk.
"I'm sorry," he said. "You're right. I haven't been—I've been so wrapped up in my own stress that I haven't been paying attention to yours."
"We're both stressed. That's the problem. And we're three thousand miles apart so we can't even—" Her voice cracked. "I miss you. I miss being able to just hug you when things are hard. I miss having you here. And I know that's selfish because this is your dream opportunity, but I can't help it."
"It's not selfish. I miss you too. So much."
They talked for another hour, working through the tension, apologizing, reconnecting.
But after they hung up, Ethan lay in bed feeling worse than before.
Vanessa was struggling. His family was struggling. And he was three thousand miles away, unable to help with anything except money he was trying desperately to save.
What was the point of all this sacrifice if everyone he loved was miserable?
Friday afternoon, Maya invited him to lunch.
Not the whole team. Just her.
"There's this great Vietnamese place a few blocks away," she said. "My treat. To celebrate us being ahead of schedule."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to. Come on. You never take breaks. One lunch won't kill you."
Ethan hesitated. He'd brought a peanut butter sandwich from home, currently sitting in the office fridge.
But Maya was looking at him with such genuine friendliness that saying no felt rude.
"Okay. Yeah. Thanks."
The restaurant was small and crowded, with amazing smells and a menu entirely in Vietnamese with small English translations underneath.
"Order whatever you want," Maya said. "Seriously. The pho here is incredible."
Ethan ordered the cheapest thing on the menu—a banh mi sandwich for $8.
Maya ordered pho, spring rolls, and Thai iced tea. Her total was probably $25.
They ate and talked—about the project, about school, about their plans after graduation.
"I'm probably going back to the Bay Area," Maya said. "My family's here, and honestly, I love it. The weather, the tech scene, the diversity. What about you?"
"I'll probably go wherever the best job offer is."
"Not tied to any particular place?"
"My family's on the East Coast. But they understand I might need to move for work."
"That's hard. Being far from family." Maya took a sip of her tea. "Do you get homesick?"
"Yeah. A lot, actually."
"I bet. Especially with a girlfriend back home. That must be tough."
"It is."
"How long have you been together?"
"About ten months. But it feels longer."
"In a good way or a bad way?"
"Good way. We've just been through a lot together." Ethan wasn't sure why he was opening up. Maybe because Maya felt safe. Neutral. Not connected to his real life.
"Like what?"
"My mom was sick. Cancer. She's in remission now, but it was—it was really hard. And Vanessa was there through all of it. Helped take care of my family, supported me, never complained."
"She sounds incredible."
"She is."
"Then you're lucky." Maya smiled. "Long distance sucks, but if she's worth it, you'll make it work."
"That's the plan."
They walked back to the office, and Ethan felt lighter than he had in days.
One real meal. One actual conversation. One hour where he wasn't alone with his stress.
It helped.
But that night, when he video called Vanessa, guilt gnawed at him.
"How was your day?" she asked.
"Good. We had a progress meeting that went really well."
"That's great! What else?"
He almost told her about lunch with Maya. But something stopped him.
It was innocent. Just a work lunch. Nothing to worry about.
But he knew how it would sound. How Vanessa would hear it.
You can't afford to go out with the group, but you went to lunch with Maya?
You're too busy and tired to socialize, but you made time for her?
So he said nothing.
"Just worked all day. The usual."
It was a lie of omission.
Small. Probably meaningless.
But it sat in his chest like a stone.
Saturday morning, Ethan woke up dizzy.
He sat up too fast and the room spun. His stomach churned with hunger even though he'd eaten dinner the night before—rice and beans, again.
He made coffee and forced down two pieces of peanut butter toast.
The dizziness faded but didn't disappear entirely.
You're fine, he told himself. Just tired. Just stressed. Just adjusting.
But deep down, he knew.
He wasn't eating enough. He wasn't sleeping enough. He was pushing too hard.
And the cracks were starting to show.
He pulled out his phone and looked at his bank account.
Stipend: $2,000 deposited this morning for the month.
Current balance with his mother's emergency fund: $3,200.
Expenses so far this month:
- Groceries: $180
- Transportation: $60
- Miscellaneous: $50
If he kept this pace, he'd spend about $600 this month.
That meant he could send $700 home.
He opened a new transfer: $700 to his mother's account.
Memo: For medical bills and groceries. Love you.
He hit send before he could second-guess himself.
His balance dropped to $2,500.
It was fine. He still had plenty. He could make it work.
Even if it meant more rice and beans.
Even if it meant skipping meals sometimes.
Even if it meant feeling dizzy and tired and hollow.
It was fine.
It had to be fine.
Because he'd come here to build a future.
And building a future required sacrifice.
Even if the sacrifice was himself.