Forget Me Not

Taken In The Net of His Music

“How — how on earth is this even possible!” I wanted to slam my head hard, who actually did invent these theorems, I inwardly cringed knowing the answer! “and this mean value —how?”

“Stop overreacting. It's easy, you just have to,” he stopped when my ferocious glare landed on him, “Okay, okay,” he chuckled, “let me show you.”

“Please. This calculator is not working properly.” my annoyance had skyrocketed already, “And you, how come you are not using a calculator?”

Smirking, he took my calculator, and when I was ready to throttle him, “Please change the mode.” he said, “what's this, Evette, why so inattentive?” 

“I don't know. Nothing is right, what am I going to do when I can't get these simple things right?! Exams are here, and,” 

“Oh please, everything will be fine. Now come on, concentrate.” And there he was, looking all calm and composed, savouring every moment holding the pen in his hand, storming down the page. Talk about life being unfair. 

“I am tired and bored.” I mumbled clear enough for him to hear.

He huffed, “You can't really be bored, Evette, and please concentrate, see in the interval there must be,”

“I can't, Oliver, not now. I need a break from this.”

“And what exactly do you want to do?” I looked at him, his expression was bored and he was looking at me like he was talking to a two year old child.

I roughly shoved my books into my bag and stood up. “I am going.”

“And exactly where are you going?” He sprang to his feet, the wooden step of the staircase under his feet made a little squeak out of protest.

“Stop breaking things.” I murmured, knowing breaking and thrashing things were his favourite pastime. “And where are you going?” He opened his mouth to reply, and I shrugged carelessly “don't even dare, I am not going to that book store.”

“Why are you making it an issue, Evette, you are just nervous, nothing else.” he followed me when I didn't mind looking back.

“Of course it's easy for you to say, professors’ favourite.”  I rolled my eyes, Oliver was someone who miraculously knew all the answers as if all those answers were already there in his head. Life is unfair hence proved again.

***

“Oliver, say something,” I sighed, looking at the greenish water of the pond where water rippled from my constant attack with pebbles. 

“What do you want to hear!”

“Anything Mr 'know it all', anything that comes to mind.” 

“Hmm. Okay a Neruda poem may be,” he rubbed his chin with his index finger. I had noticed this before, whenever he was in deep thought he did this, maybe unconsciously.

“In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud

and your form and colour are the way I love them.

You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips

and in your life my infinite dreams live.

The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,

My sour wine is sweeter on your lips,

oh reaper of my evening song,

how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!