"Just love her... Love will always win."
Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong but rejoices in the...
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FROM WHERE she's seated, she can see the fog hanging in the air. It's not as thick as it was several minutes ago when she arrived at the campus. It's clearing out, the rays of the sun starting to seep through, promising a not-so-moody day. It feels tangible -albeit not physically. She feels as if she can reach out to it with her thoughts, embrace it with her emotions and lose herself in it despite the cold.
She stares at it, the voice of the Professor sounding like a far away whisper of the morning -like the sound of brass against the sand. She doesn't know why she's seated in this class in the first place. It's a complete waste of time seeing as she's not paying the least attention. Yes, she did sign the class attendance sheet which she could have easily gotten someone else to sign on her behalf.
She glances at the Professor once again, hoping that his words will grasp her interest but it is only a matter of time before her attention slips away again. This time, she resorts to her coffee flask. Alice should have let her sleep.
A sharp and cold exhale of the wind blows by, causing some students to shudder and others to gasp. She clutches her sweater tight around her and straightens her scarf a little so it can cover her ears too.
"Not a morning person?" A voice speaks from beside her causing her to jump a little. She draws in a breath and turns to the person.
A hooded familiar face looks back at her. She feels the blood in her veins freeze over, turning ice cold and it has absolutely nothing to do with June's cold morning air.
She turns back without saying a word, deciding to pay attention to the professor's harangue. In all honesty, professors as boring as Professor Muringa should be banned from lecturing.
Didn't Jordan Bernt Peterson say that a lecture is, somewhat surprisingly, a conversation. A good lecturer is thus talking with and not at or even to his or her listeners. A good lecturer speaks directly to and watches the response of single, identifiable people. There's no "audience". There are individuals who need to be included in the conversation?
But when Hope takes a glance at the hall, all she can see is bored students, herself included and a lecturer who is only engaging himself.
"Hope, right?" Hope had started to forget his existence, let alone the fact that he's seated next to her. Now she is back to square zero. "Alice told me yesterday."
Hope clenches her jaw tight, desperately trying to cling to the Professor's words, if only to drown his words.
"I'm Collins," he goes on. "Well, the pleasure is mine."
Ha! As if anyone cares who you are. Hope can't help but think.
She shuts her eyes tight, biting down her bottom lip in aggravation.
Oh how nice it would be to hear his nose crack under the pressure of her unexpected punch.
She shouldn't be -she isn't -violent but the thought is so enticing. It pulls her like a magnet.
