Doctor Who isn’t a mystery. I mean, those of us who care about that kind of thing know that he’s an alien time-traveller acting as an unsung hero for humanity. We know exactly what he’s thinking when he does that sexy stare into the distance, and we know what he’ll say as he runs into danger, backlit by explosions and hair tousled in that oh-so-seductive way. We’ve been with the Doctor through all his lives. We were there when he first stole the Tardis for Gallifray, and we will be there when he dies, huddled in front of Netflix with tissues and popcorn. We all have the same bucket list: To travel with the Doctor. And when we say that, there’s an oh-so-tiny part of us that really truly believes that we will. Because we know the Doctor. We understand the Doctor. And he is, for us, more real than any human being.

We are the nerds. We own every single piece of fandom-related merchandise. We are at every comic convention, we write all the fan fictions, and we OWN Tumblr. We’re the ones whose parents are constantly nagging to go outside. My name is Jess, and I am the proud owner of a replica Tardis, a full set of Ravenclaw robes, and an imitation sword from the Lord of the Rings.

I’m posting this blog to show you that the world isn’t as simple as I often like to think. So I’m going to tell you a story! I’ll try and tell it just as it happened, but it won’t be perfect. So be nice, okay? This is the story of how I learned to give a crap about other people.

For most of my 18 years, I’ve been Jess, period. Not Jess and, just Jess. It’s not that I’m socially awkward, or even that I don’t like real people—it’s just that they’re so much less interesting than fictional ones. No one is as wise as Gandalf the Grey, or as compassionate as Aslan, or as comfortingly gawky as Neville Longbottom. I do have friends, but when we hang out we discuss the intricacies of Harry Potter, cry over the cancellation of Firefly, and argue over our favorite fandoms. We are friends of convenience, more than anything. There’s an entire fictional world that keeps us at a safe and comfortable distance from each other. And I’m perfectly fine with that. Or at least I was, until I met Zoe.

The first time I saw Zoe was from across the room at a book reading by John Brown. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt that hung from her slight frame, and her thick glasses were almost obscured by thick bangs, making her seem even smaller by comparison. She was glancing furtively around the room for a place to sit, the kind of survey that a desperate person makes when they’re trying to look as if they belong. I guess I looked non-threatening enough, in my mom jeans and converse, and a moment later I felt her settle nervously into the seat beside mine.

“Hi.” So quiet it was almost a whisper. I was in the middle of constructing the question I was going to ask the author—not specific enough to make me sound like a show-off, but still subtly clever—and for a moment I considered pretending that I hadn’t heard her at all. But my moral conscience won out, and I muttered an unenthusiastic “hi” in return. This is usually where my conversations with strangers end.

“Um, hey, so you like this author?” Well, I was at his book reading.

“Yeah.”

“I…really like him too. The Mistake in our Suns is my favorite!”

"Mm.” The Mistake in our Suns was my favorite too, but there was not way I was telling her that. When would she realize I wasn’t worth the time?

“So…do you go to this kind of thing a lot?”

This girl couldn’t take a hint. I looked over at her. Her overlarge glasses had slid down her nose, and she was twisting the material of her skirt anxiously between her hands. The eyes that stared at me from behind heavy frames were large and eager. She held her breath as she waited for any answer.

“Yeah.” And then, uncharacteristically: “You?”
She exhaled, a relieved breath. A microscopic smile hesitated at the corners of her lips.

“No, this is my first time.” She glanced down. “I don’t um, usually come out to things. I’m not great at the whole…people thing.” She trailed off.

“Well, it’s good that you came. You would’ve been missing out.”

I don’t know what it was that made me want to talk to this lost and lonely girl. Was it the timid way she held herself, or the way hope leapt in her face when I looked at her? Regardless, she was interesting to me, in some strange way. And so we talked.

Here’s what Zoe told me. She loves Shakespeare. She hates cheesecake. When it rains, she likes to stay in bed with tea and a book. When it’s sunny, she does pretty much the same thing. She’s a pretty awesome girl. She’s not perfect. She’s certainly not as brave as Frodo, or as tragically noble as Harry Potter. But then again, neither am I.

The Doctor saw some small and unexpected thing in human beings that he thought was worth preserving, and because of it he has saved our species countless times over. I guess it’s time, at the very least, that I got to know it.

That’s all for today, guys. Don’t forget to like, reblog, and stay awesome!