With Mangoes And Chocolates | ✓

30. Irreversible.

The winds swirled round the room, filtering through her clothes, shivering her to no extent. Manasvi hissed at the cold weather; it was always a weak point for her. God knows why, but her throat was too weak that it could catch infection even in summers.

She went ahead to pull aside the curtains, hoping to feel warm from the little sunlight February offered. Not just her, maybe those fifteen year olds looking at her with extreme excitement were also wishing the same.

She couldn't help but beam at the innocent faces. "There was a time when I was like you guys, and now. . . time moves faster than you think. I swear."

She could so very well feel them. She knew the questions roaming in their mind, the excitement or maybe the nervousness of a new teacher.

"Chillax guys. This is Manasvi Mehta from, uh, somewhere, and. . . what else do they say? Whatever."

They were still confused. They were.
"Some things are needed to be followed in my classes, and that is, there are no rules. We'll be discussing things, a lot of them and. . .we're going to be the revolutionary class."

Her eyes fell on the girl sitting in front, she had this crazy, frizzy hair somehow tied up. Her spectacles were round and big over her eyes, and she was staring her. She was cute. And pretty.
"What's your name, honey?"
"Uh," she thought for a moment, "I think. . ."
"Your name?"
"Ira, ma'am, Ira."

"It's beautiful."
"What's yours?" she questioned back.
"Were you not listening when I uttered it out loud?"
Her eyelashes quickly lowered. "Sorry ma'am."
Manasvi facepalmed herself at the apology she just recieved. "God, no need to be sorry, I'm not scolding you—just sayin'."

She sighed. "We'll be having one Literature, one language, everyday, right? You've Shakespeare this year, right? Guess what, do one thing, bring Romeo and Juliet tomorrow."

Romeo and Juliet, the tragedy, was one hell of a masterpiece by Shakespeare. Manasvi liked the fact that it was finally getting the attention it deserved in schools.

Being a teacher, Manasvi thought, was a weird job. It consisted of responsibilities. It meant interactions on a daily basis. But it also meant throughout learning.

The shift from being a software engineer to an English teacher had her mind going upside down. Simultaneously, God, was it refreshing.

It wasn't until four when she got to escape the building.

The first person she wanted to call was Stuti, but there were already an overwhelming amount of texts from Ishita. She didn't know what to feel about it. Excited? Happy?

Suspicious?

🧩

"My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep. The more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite."

Manasvi's finger slid down the corner of the page, ready to move to the next one. A soft frown formed over her forehead as she tried to comprehend Shakespeare's words.

Bhavuk could feel her immersion in the world of Literature; she hadn't even realised his presence behind her. Her fingers were brushing past against a cold cup of coffee she had infront of the book. She licked her fingertips so as to turn over the page, and tucked her hair strands behind her ear.

He found it amusing—her state even after eight years, was same. Same old innocent curiosity, same old likeness for literature, and same old favourite outfits. Her waist length hair streamed down her shoulder, and they were so thick that they had covered all of her back—he wondered if she'd purposely kept them open because of the winter. A really pale blue denim jacket covered the thigh length paisley frock she had put on. And nothing more then, just simple black leggings and sneakers.