Chapter One: A New Beginning
Melbourne, Australia
The first thing Amelia Tan noticed when she stepped out of Melbourne Airport was the cold.
She had expected the weather to be different from Singapore, of course. She had read enough about Melbourne’s unpredictable climate to know better than to arrive without a coat. Still, knowing something and experiencing it were two entirely different matters.
“Goodness,” she muttered, pulling her dark grey coat closer around her body. “And they call this spring?”
A gust of wind swept across the taxi rank, sending several loose strands of her shoulder length black hair across her face.
Amelia glanced at her watch. It was almost half past nine in the morning.
Back in Singapore, her mother would be preparing breakfast. Her father would already be sitting at the dining table with his newspaper, occasionally making remarks about the economy or complaining about the government’s latest policies.
For a brief moment, Amelia wondered whether she had made the right decision.
At thirty eight, most women in her social circle had established careers, marriages, children, or some combination of the three. Amelia, on the other hand, had decided to leave a comfortable life in Singapore to become a full time doctoral student in Australia.
Her mother had called the decision unnecessary.
Her father had described it as an expensive way to complicate an otherwise comfortable life.
Amelia disagreed with both of them.
She had spent twelve years working in food product development, first as a research assistant and later as a senior executive in a Singaporean food manufacturing company. Although she enjoyed her work, she had gradually become dissatisfied with the narrow commercial focus of her research.
She wanted to understand food beyond production targets and consumer demand. She wanted to investigate traditional ingredients, food fermentation, nutritional properties and the scientific knowledge behind preparation methods passed down through generations.
More importantly, she wanted to conduct research under her own direction.
When Westbridge University offered her a doctoral scholarship, she accepted before she had time to reconsider.
Her parents were furious.
Well, her mother was furious. Her father merely stopped speaking to her for three days.
“Miss Tan?”
Amelia looked up.
A taxi driver stood beside a silver vehicle, gesturing towards her luggage.
“Westbridge University accommodation, Carlton?”
“Yes, please.”
He loaded her two suitcases into the boot while Amelia settled into the back seat.
As the taxi left the airport, she watched unfamiliar streets pass outside the window. Melbourne was different from Singapore. The buildings seemed older in some places, the roads wider, and the traffic considerably less aggressive than the morning rush along the Central Expressway.
She smiled at the thought.
Perhaps she would like living here.
Her mobile phone rang.
Mummy.
Amelia considered ignoring the call. She had spoken to her mother twice before boarding the aircraft and once during her transit.
Nevertheless, she answered.
“Hello, Ma.”
“Amelia! Have you landed?”
“Yes, Ma. I’m in the taxi.”
“Did someone come to collect you?”
“A taxi driver.”
“Alamak, Amelia. Your father offered to arrange a car.”
“Ma, I know how to take a taxi.”
“You are alone in another country.”
“I’m thirty eight, not eighteen.”
“Thirty eight and still unmarried.”
Amelia closed her eyes.
There it was.
Less than twelve hours after leaving Singapore, her mother had returned to her favourite subject.
“Ma, please.”
“I’m only reminding you. Your cousin Jennifer already has three children.”
“Then Jennifer must be exhausted.”
“Amelia!”
The taxi driver glanced at her through the rear view mirror, apparently amused.
She turned towards the window.
“I’ll call you once I’ve settled in. Tell Dad I’ve arrived safely.”
“Your father wants to speak to you.”
Amelia heard movement on the other end of the line.
“Amelia?”
Her father’s deep voice replaced her mother’s.
“Hi, Dad.”
“How was the flight?”
“Good. A little tiring.”
“Have you checked your bank account?”
Amelia sighed.
“Dad, please tell me you didn’t transfer any money.”
“I sent you something for your expenses.”
“I have a scholarship.”
“A scholarship doesn’t mean you should live like a poor student.”
“I’m going there to study, Dad.”
“And I’m still your father.”
Amelia smiled despite herself.
Richard Tan had never understood why his only daughter insisted on earning everything independently. He had built a successful logistics business over four decades, and he considered providing for his family his greatest responsibility.
For Amelia, independence mattered more than financial comfort.
“Thank you, Dad. But I’ll manage.”
He remained silent for a moment.
“Study hard, Amelia.”
“I will.”
“And don’t forget to come home.”
Something in his voice softened her expression.
“I won’t, Dad.”
When the call ended, Amelia leaned back against the seat.
Three years.
She had promised her parents she would complete her doctorate within three years and return to Singapore.
Three years seemed reasonable.
She had no intention of allowing anything to distract her.
Especially not a man.
Westbridge University stood on a spacious campus north of Melbourne’s central business district.
Its older buildings featured sandstone façades, arched windows and broad staircases. Modern glass structures occupied the eastern section of the campus, where several research institutes and laboratories had been established over the previous decade.
Amelia had studied photographs of the university before accepting her scholarship, but the campus looked more impressive in person.
Her accommodation was a small furnished apartment within walking distance of the university.
Small was perhaps a generous description.
The apartment contained a bedroom, a narrow kitchen, a bathroom and a living area barely large enough for a sofa and a dining table.
Amelia stood in the middle of the room, examining her surroundings.
“Well,” she said aloud, “welcome to student life.”
Her apartment in Singapore was almost three times larger.
She opened the curtains. Sunlight entered through the windows, revealing a quiet residential street lined with trees.
It was clean, practical and close to campus.
That would be enough.
After unpacking, she checked her university email.
There were fourteen unread messages.
Most concerned enrolment procedures, student identification, library access and laboratory safety training.
One message immediately caught her attention.
Subject: Doctoral Supervision Meeting
From: Professor Alexander W. Whitmore
Dear Ms Tan,
Welcome to Westbridge University.
I have reviewed the research proposal submitted with your doctoral application. Before we proceed with the initial research plan, I would like to discuss several methodological matters requiring clarification.
Please attend a meeting in my office on Monday at 9.00 am.
Bring a printed copy of your proposal, preliminary literature review and proposed research timeline.
Regards,
Professor Alexander W. Whitmore
School of Food Science and Biotechnology
Amelia read the message twice.
There was nothing particularly welcoming about it apart from the first sentence.
No polite enquiry about her arrival. No suggestion she should take a few days to adjust.
Straight to business.
She looked at the calendar.
Monday was three days away.
“Fine, Professor Whitmore,” she murmured. “Monday, nine o’clock.”
She opened her laptop and retrieved her research proposal.
If her supervisor wanted a discussion, she intended to arrive prepared.
By Sunday evening, Amelia had read through her entire proposal twice, prepared a list of questions and reorganised several sections of her literature review.
She had also explored the university campus, obtained her student identification card and completed the paperwork for her part time tutoring appointment.
The tutoring position would provide a modest additional income. She would assist with undergraduate food analysis classes for a limited number of hours each week, subject to her scholarship conditions.
Teaching was not entirely new to her. She had conducted technical training sessions at her previous company, although speaking to university students would require a different approach.
She found the prospect rather appealing.
After dinner, Amelia sat at her small dining table with a cup of black coffee.
Her phone vibrated.
Chloe Lim.
She answered the video call.
“Hello, woman!”
Chloe’s cheerful face appeared on the screen.
“Still alive in Australia?”
“Barely. It’s freezing.”
“Good. Maybe the cold will preserve you until you finish your PhD.”
Amelia laughed.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“So, have you met any handsome Australian men?”
“I’ve been here three days.”
“And?”
“And I’ve been busy.”
Chloe shook her head dramatically.
“Amelia Tan Wei Ling. Thirty eight years old. Single. Financially stable. Reasonably attractive.”
“Reasonably?”
“I’m being objective.”
“How generous of you.”
“You need a boyfriend.”
“I need to finish my doctorate.”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Amelia took a sip of coffee.
“I’m not going to Australia to find a husband.”
“Nobody said you were. But if a handsome professor happens to appear, don’t immediately reject him.”
Amelia raised an eyebrow.
“Funny you should mention a professor.”
Chloe leaned closer to the camera.
“Oh?”
“My supervisor sent me an email.”
“Is he handsome?”
“I haven’t met him.”
“Married?”
“I don’t know.”
“Age?”
“Chloe.”
“What? I’m conducting preliminary research.”
Amelia laughed again.
“His name is Professor Alexander Whitmore.”
Chloe began typing on her laptop.
“Let’s see.”
“What are you doing?”
“Searching.”
“Don’t.”
“Too late.”
Amelia heard several clicks.
Chloe suddenly stopped speaking.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Interesting.”
“Chloe.”
Her friend turned the laptop screen towards the camera.
A university photograph showed a tall, dark haired man standing beside a group of researchers at an international conference.
He wore a navy suit, a white shirt and a serious expression.
Amelia leaned closer.
“That’s him?”
“Professor Alexander William Whitmore,” Chloe announced. “Forty three years old. Food scientist. Multiple research publications. International collaborations. Apparently quite an accomplished academic.”
“You found all of that in thirty seconds?”
“I’m efficient.”
Amelia examined the photograph.
The man was undeniably attractive.
His hair was neatly styled, with faint traces of grey near his temples. His expression suggested someone who rarely smiled for photographs.
“He looks strict,” she observed.
“He looks handsome.”
“He looks difficult.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive either.”
Amelia rolled her eyes.
“I have a meeting with him tomorrow.”
Chloe grinned.
“Wear something nice.”
“I’m attending an academic supervision meeting, not a blind date.”
“Wear something nice anyway.”
At eight forty five on Monday morning, Amelia stood outside the School of Food Science and Biotechnology.
She wore tailored black trousers, a cream blouse and a charcoal blazer. Her hair fell neatly around her shoulders, and she carried a leather tote containing her laptop, research documents and notebook.
She had always believed first impressions mattered.
Her mother had insisted on this principle throughout her childhood, although Eleanor applied it primarily to social occasions.
Amelia applied it to professional meetings.
She entered the building and followed the directions towards the academic offices.
Professor Whitmore’s office was on the fourth floor.
At precisely eight fifty seven, she reached his door.
The nameplate read:
Professor Alexander W. Whitmore
Chair of Food Innovation and Sustainable Processing
Amelia took a breath and knocked.
“Come in.”
The voice was deep, with a distinct Australian accent.
She opened the door.
The office was spacious but remarkably organised. Bookshelves covered one wall, while framed research certificates and conference photographs occupied another.
Large windows overlooked the university courtyard.
A man stood beside his desk, reviewing a document.
He looked up.
Amelia recognised him immediately.
The photograph Chloe had found did not quite capture his appearance.
He was taller than she expected, with broad shoulders and an expression suggesting he had spent most of the morning dealing with matters requiring his patience.
His eyes were blue.
Not the striking, unnatural blue of edited photographs, but a muted greyish blue which seemed to sharpen when he concentrated.
“Miss Tan?”
“Yes. Good morning, Professor Whitmore.”
He glanced at the clock.
“You’re early.”
“Three minutes.”
One corner of his mouth moved.
“I see you’re precise.”
“Only when necessary.”
He gestured towards the chair opposite his desk.
“Please, take a seat.”
Amelia sat and placed her documents on the table.
Alexander returned to his chair.
For several seconds, he examined her proposal without speaking.
Amelia waited.
Finally, he looked up.
“I understand you’ve spent twelve years working in food product development.”
“Yes. Mostly in product formulation, quality assessment and commercial research.”
“And you’ve decided to leave the industry to pursue a doctorate.”
“That’s correct.”
“Why?”
Amelia had prepared for this question.
“I want to undertake research beyond immediate commercial applications. My interest lies in traditional food ingredients, their nutritional properties and how scientific investigation can contribute to their documentation and development.”
Alexander nodded.
“A reasonable motivation.”
Amelia relaxed slightly.
Then he turned a page.
“Unfortunately, your current proposal is far too broad.”
Her fingers tightened around her pen.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You have proposed investigating fermentation, nutritional composition, traditional preparation methods, product stability and consumer acceptance.”
“Yes.”
“Across several ingredient categories.”
“Yes.”
“Within three years.”
“That is the proposed timeline.”
Alexander placed the document on the desk.
“Do you genuinely believe this is feasible?”
Amelia straightened.
“I believe the research is achievable with proper planning.”
“Planning doesn’t eliminate methodological limitations.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Then you should also be aware your proposal currently lacks a defensible sampling strategy for the range of materials you’ve identified.”
Amelia took a measured breath.
“Professor, I’ve already considered the sampling requirements.”
“You have listed possible samples. That’s different from demonstrating how you’ll select them.”
She looked at him.
He looked back.
Neither spoke.
Eventually, Amelia opened her notebook.
“Then perhaps you might explain which part concerns you most.”
Alexander leaned forward.
For the next forty minutes, he questioned her research questions, experimental procedures, access to traditional food producers and intended laboratory analyses.
His comments were direct.
Sometimes painfully so.
Yet, Amelia gradually recognised something important.
He had read her proposal carefully.
Every paragraph.
Every table.
Even the references near the end.
When he questioned her choice of analytical methods, he identified a paper she had cited and asked whether she had considered a more recent validation study.
Amelia had not.
She wrote the reference down.
By ten o’clock, her notebook contained four pages of revisions.
Alexander closed the proposal.
“I suggest we narrow the research scope before you begin any laboratory work.”
Amelia examined her notes.
“You want me to revise the entire proposal.”
“Not the entire proposal. Your underlying research interest is sound. The design needs work.”
“How much work?”
“That depends on how efficiently you respond to feedback.”
Amelia looked up.
“And if I disagree with your feedback?”
For the first time, Alexander smiled properly.
“Then I expect you to defend your position with evidence.”
She returned his smile, although hers contained considerably less warmth.
“I intend to.”
“Good.”
He stood, signalling the meeting had ended.
Amelia gathered her documents and rose from her chair.
At the door, she turned.
“Professor Whitmore?”
“Yes?”
“Do you always make your new doctoral students feel as though they’ve walked into an examination?”
Alexander considered the question.
“Only the ones I believe are capable of doing better.”
Amelia stared at him.
She had not expected the answer.
Before she found a suitable response, he continued.
“Send me your revised research questions by Friday, Ms Tan.”
“Friday?”
“Is there a problem?”
She raised her chin.
“None at all.”
“Excellent. Have a good morning.”
Amelia stepped into the corridor.
The door closed behind her.
She stood motionless for several seconds before looking down at the four pages of notes in her notebook.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered.
She had travelled thousands of kilometres, left her career behind and committed three years of her life to obtaining a doctorate.
And her supervisor had already given her enough revisions to occupy an entire week.
Her phone vibrated.
A message from Chloe.
So? How was the handsome professor?
Amelia began typing.
Handsome, yes. Insufferable, absolutely.
Chloe replied almost immediately.
Perfect. Sounds like the beginning of a love story.
Amelia laughed aloud.
Don’t be ridiculous.
She slipped her phone into her bag and walked towards the staircase.
Inside his office, Alexander Whitmore returned to his desk.
He picked up Amelia’s research proposal and opened it to the first page.
He had supervised doctoral students for more than a decade. Some had arrived with impressive academic qualifications but little understanding of the demands of research. Others possessed excellent technical knowledge yet struggled to develop independent research questions.
Amelia Tan interested him for a different reason.
She had disagreed with him.
Not carelessly. Not because she refused criticism.
She had listened, questioned his reasoning and defended her position where she believed she had sufficient evidence.
Her proposal required substantial revisions, but her experience in the food industry had given her an understanding of practical constraints which some doctoral students lacked.
Alexander reached for his pen.
On the cover of her proposal, he wrote:
Promising candidate. Strong industry background. Needs narrower scope and clearer methodological justification.
He paused.
Then he added:
Independent thinker.
His office telephone rang.
Alexander glanced at the screen.
Father.
He sighed before answering.
“Morning, Dad.”
“Alexander. Are you busy?”
“I’m working.”
“You always are.”
“What do you need?”
Edward Whitmore laughed.
“Straight to business, as usual.”
Alexander leaned back in his chair.
“I have another meeting in twenty minutes.”
“Fine. I wanted to remind you about the university trust meeting next Thursday.”
“I’ve already told you I’m not joining the board.”
“You’re a Whitmore, Alexander.”
“I’m also a professor.”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Alexander closed his eyes.
He had heard the argument countless times.
His family’s involvement with Westbridge University stretched back several generations. The Whitmore family trust held substantial influence over the institution’s finances and long term development.
Alexander had deliberately avoided administrative involvement in the trust.
He wanted his colleagues to judge him by his research, not by his family name.
“Is there anything else, Dad?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. An old friend of mine called from Singapore yesterday.”
Alexander glanced at the clock.
“That’s nice.”
“Richard Tan. We haven’t seen each other properly in years.”
“I’m glad you’re keeping in touch.”
“He has a daughter, you know.”
Alexander frowned.
“Dad.”
“I’m merely making conversation.”
“You’re never merely making conversation when you mention someone’s unmarried daughter.”
Edward laughed again.
“She’s apparently studying somewhere in Australia.”
“Australia is a large country.”
“Quite right. Anyway, I promised Richard we’d arrange dinner when I visit Singapore.”
Alexander picked up another document.
“Enjoy yourself.”
“You ought to come with me.”
“Goodbye, Dad.”
He ended the call before his father had a chance to continue.
Alexander shook his head.
At forty three, he had grown accustomed to his father’s attempts to introduce him to suitable women.
His parents considered his unmarried status a problem requiring urgent attention.
He considered it a personal decision.
Alexander returned his attention to the document on his desk.
Across the top, in neat black lettering, was the name:
Amelia Tan Wei Ling.
He opened the proposal once more.
The student had potential.
Considerable potential, in fact.
If she worked hard, challenged her assumptions and remained receptive to criticism, she might produce an excellent doctoral thesis.
Alexander picked up his pen and continued reviewing her methodology.
He had no idea his father’s old friend in Singapore had a daughter named Amelia.
Nor did he know the woman who had walked out of his office twenty minutes earlier would become one of the most important people in his life.
For now, she was simply his newest doctoral student.
And he expected her revisions by Friday.
End of Chapter One
