A few weeks ago I got on an elevator and standing right there was an old flame.

No, it wasn’t an erstwhile love interest, but someone whom I once thought was the potential donor of our organization’s dreams – the one who got away.

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We met in 2011. I was a 29-year-old kid with a dream of building an organization for Jewish graduate students around North America. We set up a nonprofit but we didn’t have any donors. I needed to raise an initial budget of $150,000 for it to take off. I had a few leads but nothing substantial.

Then someone introduced me to “Mr. Right.” He seemed to have it all: a successful entrepreneur turned VC who took chances on young people by investing in new companies with big dreams, who understood and cared for the Jewish community, and had a track record of supporting Jewish nonprofit startups like ours.

It took me months of chasing, but I finally got a meeting. He sat me down and right away asked the big question: “Why do grad students need their own Jewish organization?”

I was prepared. “Grad students are 5-10 years older than undergrads and worlds apart in terms of their priorities and interests. They typically don’t hang out with undergrads and need their own Jewish space on campus,” I told him.

Then he asked: “Aren’t the existing campus groups working with grad students already?”

Once again, I was ready. “Actually, no,” I said. “Graduate schools are often on separate campuses from their parent university, and sometimes they are standalone institutions without parent universities. Those students couldn’t access the Jewish undergraduate organizations even if they wanted to.”

And then I drove my main point home: “Unlike with undergraduate programs, graduate school is when many young adults contemplate life in a serious way. Graduate students are making major key decisions regarding work and family, as well as their Judaism and Jewish identity. If we don’t reach them now, who will?”

Finally, I looked him in the eye and said, “I have little to no support, and I need someone to believe in me. Could you believe in me?”

He thought for a moment. Then flatly said, “No.”

Mr. Right proceeded to give a few justifications. He only gives large donations and didn’t want to be a large donor to a small organization. We needed to prove ourselves as viable before he gives. He only likes calculated risks. He doesn’t want to overextend himself.

I left the meeting feeling like I’d been rejected by my high school crush but also with a determination to prove to him that we could do this. I sent him constant updates via email over the last 13 years and tried to keep in touch. He never responded, but Google metrics told me he was opening the emails.

Standing in that elevator with him 13 years later, my head was flooded with thoughts: Does he realize how far we’ve come? Does he know that we’re servicing 155 graduate campuses and 10,000 students who rely on us for Jewish community? That we’re financially healthy and transparent, raising a $2.7 million budget? That we have an amazing advisory board and executive community behind us?

Before I had a chance to tell him any of this, he turned to me and said, “You know, I’ve been following your emails for years. It seems like this has turned into something special. I have to be honest, I didn’t think you could do it. Keep me in mind during your next campaign.” And with that, he walked off.

Will he donate this year? I have no idea. Life isn’t a 90s romantic-comedy where the reject always gets the date before the credits roll.

What I do know is that Jewish Graduate Organization’s amazing work speaks for itself, and has won us a lot of admirers, even among people like Mr. Right who previously doubted us. And that itself is a happy ending.

And for those who rejected us — if you’re reading this — maybe we’re worth another look?

Rabbi Dave Sorani is the CEO of the Jewish Graduate Organization.