Twoflower didn’t just look at the world through rose-tinted spectacles, Rincewind knew – he looked at it through a rose-tinted brain, too, and heard it through rose-tinted ears.
He was laughing so hard that his sides were aching hard. At times like these he had to admit, the internet did him a lot better than a beer. For the last five minutes he had been watching a video. The video was about a man who was so stoned that he at first proposed to himself in the mirror, and then rejected himself and then got angry because he thought he himself was an asshole and did not deserve getting proposed by himself anyway.
Peals of laughter were emanating from the front desk too. Some of his friends were watching an episode of House M.D. You got to admit, Laurie had style. He went up to the front benches and one of the guys replayed the scene. House was sitting with his legs up on the desk as his three employees rush into the room. Cameron says: “We got rectal bleeding”. House looks up and asks: “What? All three of you?” Guffaws engulf the class room again.
He steals a sideway glance at her, and immediately gets that feeling of getting splashed by cold water. The professor rushes into the room, and everyone scrambles for the last bench. Face the truth. No one attends engineering classes to learn. It is all about the attendance. And right now, it was about the least painful way to get attendance in Professor Singh’s class. He chuckles to himself, but soon his chuckle turns to a grimace as he realizes he is the only one left without the sanctity of the benches behind the first row.
Singh wasn’t the usual kind of boring professor. Hell the subject he taught was interesting. He liked it too. But Singh was somewhat of a sadist. He asked questions to demonstrate how little the students knew in comparison to him, rather than find out how much they had understood. Resigned to his fate, he takes out his copy. The one copy for all subjects. True, like all students he had bought different copies for taking notes in different subjects in the first semester. It all shrank to one copy in the second. That master copy was still two thirds empty halfway through the third semester.
He gets the copy but rummages around inside his bag for a pen, in vain. Singh has already started with his caustic remarks about the homework they had submitted. Truth be told, he hadn’t even done his homework. One of his female friends had done it for him, after he had promised to pay her the ransom of a hefty treat. Those negotiations were amusing. Both parties knew that once the deed was done, there would be no treat, but there was always a question of owing the benefactor one. And he had a reputation of being quite the Boy Scout in class. Boy Scout with boyish good looks which explained how most of his deals were with the women in class. He flirted with most, and was loved by all. Or almost all.
Which comes to his rescue as the girls sitting behind him toss him a pen moved by his plight. The lesson drones on with occasional insults marked his way by Singh. Yeah the first bencher was always in for some extra “character building criticism”. The lesson ends abruptly as Singh has some official work to be done. He manages to get out a “Present Sir”, as he takes his bag slings it across his shoulder and move for the lift.
He hardly takes the lift nowadays, because passing through the stairs would mean passing through the Biotechnology Department’s class and it was a win-win situation. He could burn calories and feast his eyes on the bombshells simultaneously. Finally he reaches the canteen, but as soon as he looks inside he decides he is better off without that cup of coffee. She is inside. Frankly if he went in, and chose not sit the table the group was sitting at, it would elicit reactions from his friends. Some would ask him to drop the matter, because it was stale now anyway. Some would give him their support. Others would try to plumb into the depths of his emotional state.
He could do without those reactions. Instead of settling down he moves past the table smiling at all and on to the stair that takes him to the roof. She did not even glance his way during the ten minutes he was in the room. On the roof, the chilly January air bit him but the sun was shining so brightly that the cold rescinded after a bit. His mobile buzzed. It was a message. His friend was not able to find him so he had texted. “Classes are cancelled today. Get your ass down to the football field”.
Even that was a lie. They always called him to play. And then kept him as a substitute. Earlier he had not minded that much, since he always told himself that academics was his forte, not sports. And he had learnt all throughout school to be happy for his team when they won, even while remaining on as a substitute. Of late things had changed. He was not performing in academics too and most of the time wound up feeling like an also-ran and has-been. Also his recent illness had left him unable to walk without a limp, let alone running.
Sighing, he picks up his bag and heads down the stairs. Most of the canteen has emptied out, to either attend classes or the game. He however heads outside the campus doors intending to go back home and have a little nap. A midday nap is a rare commodity for engineering students, and he certainly valued it. Midway to the bus stand he changes his route and heads for the pizza shop. He is alone, and he is hungry. He feels as if his stomach deserves a treat just for that reason. His loudly gurgling empty stomach.
The pizza shop is some distance from the college. He walks along slowly, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his back. However when he finally reaches the pizza shop his legs are sore. Damn! She is sitting at a table with her head turned towards the T.V. away from the entrance. Apart from that the shop is almost empty. His legs are wobbling so badly that he fears if he does not take some rest right now he will fall down at any moment. Selecting the nearest table he drops his bag into the chair, wobbles over to the counter and hands over the money for the pizza. He returns to his chair unsteadily and drops down with a sigh.
“How’s the leg now?” He actually looks up at “leg”. Because if he did not see her utter the words he would not have believed she had spoken them anyway. Three months. “Coming along”, before he drops the sentence and lets silence hang the rest. There. There he catches it again in the twitch of her mouth. Not pity. Not concern. As if it was a challenge. It had always been challenges with her. She had dared him to do everything until he had called her bluff. She retreated faster than he would have thought possible. The player had been played.
Nothing happens next. They both finish their pizzas in utter silence. As they walk out of the door, he hangs back for a moment and holds it open for her to pass through. Brief smiles are exchanged. And then she turns and starts walking down the street. He waits for a second, pulls out his shades and slowly limps away in the opposite direction.
Tasting life in retrospect 