𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | ✓

1

My eyes dart back and forth to each corner of the office. Chewing on my bottom lip, I contemplate what the professor could want with me. My left leg keeps bouncing, and all I can think is my midterm couldn't have been that bad. I slip off my scrunchie and let my dark brown hair fall down, brushing my shoulders over my purple plaid shirt, before tying it up again.

Fine, I didn't exactly study for the exam, but I'm so done with college and just want it to be over. Especially after what happened this summer.

With a sharp inhale, I straighten myself and adjust the collar of my shirt. A quick glance at my wristwatch tells it has been ten minutes I've been waiting in this room for him. I drum my fingers over my thighs, noting how my jeans don't fit me anymore. I pinch the top of my pants and pull the dark blue denim upwards, it's too loose, I must look hideous in these. With a shaky exhale, I lean into the backrest, shoving the thoughts about my appearance into the back of my mind.

My life has gone to shambles, the last thing I should care about is my clothing and how I look, yet here I am. Guess old habits die hard.

My body is trembling. My jittery nerves make it impossible to stay in my seat. Stretching my arms over my head, I fill my lungs with paper-scented air. I tiptoe across the room and press my ear to the door.

Dead quiet.

I sigh and walk away. My hands on my hips, I look out the window to the dull blue sky. Typical for an early November in New York. My gaze moves to the messy desk scattered with papers, textbooks, and pens.

It reminds me of that picture of Einstein's desk. The one captured after his death.

I move to it and automatically begin scanning the titles of the books. The reports seem to be an exam the professor has taken from another class. My finger traces the shapes of the figures and functions.

I halt. An idea sparks in my mind.

No one's around. If someone nears the room, I'll probably hear the footsteps. While I'm here, why not find my class's folder and check my grades?

A mischievous smile curves my lips and without wasting another second, I shuffle through his belongings.

I quickly search the top of his desk but find nothing of use. I push the chair aside and open the drawer, breezing through the papers and giving up when I find nothing related to myself.

"Nothing," I sigh and readjust everything to how it was before I roamed through it.

A paper catches my eye. It is sprawled with mathematical equations in his messy handwriting. Scratched-out numbers and crossed-out functions cover the page. I frown as I study it closely.

Professor Wright is the smartest person I've ever seen in my twenty-one year of life. How can he not figure out something? An MIT graduate not able to solve a mathematical question?

"Impossible," I huff and shake my head before bringing the paper closer. I read the question. My eyebrows draw together. Wright has drawn a thick circle around the words 'moduli space', 'curves', and 'Riemann surfaces'. Underneath, he has scribbled the Dirichlet function and multiple others.

I'm certain I've seen this question somewhere; just can't put my finger on where or when.

I'm positive I've read its solution too. But the more I think, the blanker my mind goes, unable to recall the answer.

I pull out my phone and snap a picture of the paper in my hand. I secure my phone in my jeans' pocket and return the paper to its initial place before going back to my seat. My mind occupied with putting together its solution.

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