She deleted it.
It wasn't the cover page the rubric asked for. There were no course codes, no professor's name, no ID number. But as she printed it out, she understood what the boy meant. The cover page was the handshake before the conversation. And if she didn't show her own hand first, why would anyone want to shake it? portada de un trabajo de universidad
He looked up, unbothered. "Sure it is. It's for my architecture thesis. The cover should tell you what's inside before you read a single word." He pointed to her blank screen. "What's inside yours?" She deleted it