17 Missed Calls

↠50↞ It's for the best

↠50↞

It's for the best

I keep blankly gaping at Will, what he's just said boggles my mind. "I . . ." Words simply fail me. I haven't got the slightest idea what I could say to make him feel any better.

"Exactly," he mutters in response to my futile attempt of consoling him.

"Do you want to ditch the classes? We could grab a drink, and maybe, if you feel like it, talk about it?" I offer, starting to nervously chew on my lip.

"Sure." He listlessly shrugs his shoulders, discarding his stuff into his backpack.

I am outright shocked by his willingness, but I quickly copy his actions and collect everything from my desk.

"And where are you two going?" The professor cuts her dialogue with other students, questioningly staring at us from under her glasses, demanding an answer.

"Just go," Will structures me, ploughing through the rows of occupied chairs.

"Mr. Reyman!" The professor huffs in disbelief.

"I heard you the first time, Mrs. Cohen." He turns his unfazed face to look at her. "If you must know, I am going to clear my head as I'm struggling with something, and Davina is the only person who can help me with it. And before you preach me about the importance of English literature and my responsibility to attend the classes in order to pass the semester, I am fully aware of it."

"If you are, then you should stay here with the rest of the group and acquaint yourself with these poems," she grumbles in a rebuking tone.

"I already have," he breathes in exasperation.

"Oh, really?" The professor chuckles humorlessly. "Let's see then." She crosses her arms over her chest. "If you can recite at least one of Rupi's poems, one that doesn't consist of two or three lines only, then I'll let you go. The both of you." She smirks triumphantly, watching us from under her glasses.

Will looks over at me, his chest falls down as he exhales heavily in frustration. He then turns his head back to the professor, not even a single word leaves his mouth.

"As I–"

"'For you to see beauty here does not mean there is beauty in me. It means there is beauty rooted so deep within you, you can't help but see it everywhere,"' he recites in a clear voice, causing not just me but the teacher herself to gape her mouth open in astonishment. "But if you ask me which one is my favourite, I would say; "'i am a museum full of art but you had your eyes shut'", he adds confidently.

The professors' eyes momentarily soften. "Okay, William. You proved yourself," she uses his name, which is already odd enough, not to mention the kind tone in which she speaks to him. "But this is the last time I'm cutting you some slack. Now go before I change my mind." She smiles at him, now completely making me dumbstruck.

"Thank you," he responds politely, and beckons at me with his head, leading me out of the lecture hall, a shriek of disgruntled, jealous students can be heard behind our backs.

~~~~~~~~~~

"I can not believe that you actually know these poems," I tumble out, taking a seat at the same café that he previously took me to.

"My grandfather loves poetry. He gave me the Milk and honey book. I memorized some of the poems." He gives a mindless shrug of his shoulders.

"You've never told me that," I say, surprised.

"I don't like to mention my family," he responds.

The image of his parents immediately comes to my mind. "So, I'm guessing that you don't want to–"