Chaos Theory - Kamala Shastri's Final Act

Scene 1

Kamala Shastri stared blankly at the board.

The oppressive August humidity hung heavy in the air, mocking the old fan's feeble attempts to stir up a breeze.

"Just one more year," she muttered, tapping her pen impatiently against the worn-out desk. 

One more year of this monotonous hell.

The professor droned on in his usual robotic voice, chalk squeaking irritatingly on the board.

Kamala couldn't care less about his lecture; the man's words floated over her head like meaningless noise. Neither did the professor care if the students understood a word he said. He was there for his paycheck, spouting nonsense for an hour before disappearing.

Kamala had perfected the art of pretending to listen while her mind wandered off to more interesting places—like the bottom of the deep, dark sea.

The professor's voice cut through her daydream. "What's the answer?"

With a sigh, Kamala raised her hand, rattling off the correct answer.

The professor nodded approvingly as if her intelligence somehow validated his existence. "Well done."

Yeah, thanks. She thought sarcastically. Glad to see I can still dazzle you with my ability to regurgitate information.

The professor continued his dull monologue, and Kamala slipped back into her thoughts.

Life is fcking monotone.

Day in, day out, it's the same routine: waking up in the suffocating heat of her hostel room, enduring the same dreary lectures, the same indifferent faces, and the delightful blandness of the hostel food--

ring

The bell rang, and she hurried out, mentally rolling her eyes at the noise echoing through the corridors as the students rushed to their next class.

Now it was Chemistry. Finally, the only class that managed to pique her interest, maybe her almost favorite, though she'd never admit it aloud. She had no favorites, she claimed.

Breathless, Kamala arrived at the Chemistry lab.

Standing at the entrance, she surveyed the empty room with a hint of satisfaction.

She was the first one here. 

Finally.

 Maybe today would be different. Maybe today she wouldn't have to endure—

A smirk crept onto her face as she entered, a slight skip in her step, and she ceremoniously placed her books on the very first bench.

Just as she was about to savor the moment by taking her seat, she heard an ominous shuffling sound. She looked up.

To her dismay, a familiar figure emerged from behind the last table, standing tall with a pen in hand. His dark hair was tousled as always, clad in his bomber jacket, seemingly unfazed by the hot weather.

Sensing her gaze, he turned to meet her eyes.

Kamala glared at him silently, but he stared back with the serene calm of someone who knew he got under her skin.

As usual, he beat her to arriving first.

Damn him.

She bit her cheek, turned away, and reluctantly took her seat.

Her professor arrived smiling brightly at them.

The professor was an elderly man who actually seemed to care about Chemistry, unlike other lecturers who treated it like a compulsory dental check-up. He began the class with an enthusiasm that was almost contagious.