A Continuum

Its the suspension of rains of mid-July. An essence of damp wood covers the usually predominant fragrance of books.. pale white pages, scribbles on every possible subject on earth. Fungus on the walls.  Obscurity of his room apparently can not be killed by kindling the last lamp in this chilly-rainy night. Its his eyes that are veiled by a never ending continuum of emotional intimidation. The eyes that once beautifully glimmered hazel, with hopes of an iridescent future. Now the ruins of a cheerful lad with enormous potentials. Sleep deprived, hallucinations... post traumatic stress disorder as the doctors say. "Trauma...huh.. the ugly scratch on the roof of your mouth".

"What has happened to you ?" the girl on the next bench questioned. The faded digits of the wrist-watch say its 13:18. There are variables and numbers crawling around unkempt diagrams on the board, probably they're teaching electromagnetism. Your world time-travels like frames of an old western-american movie. When its Insomnia, its more of a clash between the states of oblivion and consciousness. "She's just a girl" he told to himself, "Nothing worse will happen just give it a try", "But she could be precarious", "She won't kill for your speaking", "Be careful at least this time". With him divided into numerous advisors in his mind, it's generally a lifetime for decisions to occur. However this one was relatively involentary.

"Nothing, I just... am a bit tired" he said with a voice lower than the sounds of curling pages and packing bagpacks.

"Tired you sure are.. what's intriguing is you're always tired. You never speak much. You're not an idiot I see that when you accidently are present in the classes. What's the deal ?". The subtility of her voice was more powerful than her words, soft like the coat of a doe, inspirit like strings played at a zen.

"It's.. just a little bad weather in my world currently, something like the odds aren't in my favor. No biggie." said he with a little less of stuttering, about to ask how on earth did she took notice of a guy who would usually play the role of some run-of-the-mill passenger in a James Bond movie, but his momentary supernaturally raised instincts denied to ask something she'd find hard to answer.

"Oh.. okay. Good luck is all I can say right now. I guess I'll find you on facebook, 'll see you there then. Bye". She waved as she drove away, her hair gliding through the winds, fine showers of rain glistening her skin. Like a dove unaware of cages, she didn't care of headgears and scarfs. It was the rough winds that adorned her.

"She's good, sits away from the crowd, usually the binding center of her group, sense of emotional integrity in her eyes, most probably is an immigrant from south, eyes streamlined, Maharashtrian or Andhra, definitely Maharashtrian her curls explain it, wrists tender like of an artist but more of an unexposed one, her hair untied, and the dressing sense explain she's from a broad-minded family that however sticks to its ethics, in a way, according to her body language, doesn't carry your taste in music and movies = tough girl, hard catch, compatibility-ratio 0.75, won't give up easily on a relationship". Judging people by observation has become his obsession, strengthened by positive results most of the time. Anyway he's done for now. Not the slightest disturbance in his heartbeat, pupils or breathing rate. Falling for anyone seems like an unrealistic dream to him.

"Dinner's ready ! Get stuffed" his mom called through the series of empty hallways and locked doors. Putting aside an old novel that must have belonged to a sophomore girl, wondering how people can be so heartless to give away books, he pulled the door handle, like empting the silent shell from a gun-barrel, waiting for another one to fire and throw burning sparkles of family-contend in his eyes. There's a buzz in his pocket. It's the girl.. Oh what's her name again.