THE FIRST CLASS
CHAPTER ONE
THE FIRST CLASS
The room was quieter than Ayaan remembered hospitals being.
There was no television playing somewhere in the corridor, no family arguing over a chair, no hurried footsteps passing his door. Only the low hum of the air conditioner and the occasional sound of a trolley moving across the floor outside.
Ayaan lay on the bed with his hands resting over the blanket.
The ceiling had a small brown mark near one of the lights.
He had been looking at it for several minutes.
Maybe longer.
The door opened.
A nurse walked in carrying a tray. She placed it on the small table beside his bed without saying anything at first. A glass of water. Two tablets. A bowl of something that had probably been called breakfast before it reached the kitchen.
Ayaan looked at the tray.
Then at the nurse.
“Coffee?”
She glanced at him.
“No coffee.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
He looked back at the tray.
“I don't.”
She sighed, but there was no irritation in it. She had probably learned not to argue with him.
“The doctor said no caffeine for now.”
Ayaan nodded.
He picked up the glass of water.
The nurse watched him for a moment.
“You slept?”
“A little.”
“Any dreams?”
He paused.
“No.”
That answer came too quickly.
The nurse seemed to notice.
She picked up the empty glass from the previous night and turned toward the door.
Ayaan looked at the untouched breakfast.
“She used to say I drank too much coffee.”
The nurse stopped.
“Who?”
Ayaan didn't answer.
For a moment, his eyes remained on the tray.
Then he said, quietly, “Nobody.”
The nurse looked at him for another second before leaving.
The door closed.
Ayaan listened to her footsteps disappear down the corridor.
He reached for the water again.
His hands were steady.
That was something people often noticed about him now.
How steady he was.
As if whatever had happened had happened to somebody else.
He turned his head toward the window.
There was a narrow strip of morning visible between the curtains. A pale building stood on the other side of the glass, its windows reflecting more sky than light.
Ayaan watched a bird land on the railing outside.
It stayed there for a few seconds.
Then flew away.
He wondered where it was going.
The thought reminded him of university.
Not because of the bird.
Because of the way Alina once answered a question nobody had asked her.
He could still remember the exact words.
He could remember where she had been sitting.
He could remember the pen in her hand.
He could remember almost everything.
That had always been the problem.
He remembered too much.
Three years earlier, Ayaan arrived at university with one suitcase, two notebooks, and no intention of making friends.
The hostel room had two beds.
He used one.
The other remained empty for six weeks.
He didn't mind.
The room was small enough that there was nowhere for unnecessary things to accumulate. A bed. A cupboard. A desk. A chair that leaned slightly to the left. One window overlooking the back side of the academic block.
Ayaan liked it.
There was nothing to explain.
At home, silence had never lasted very long.
His parents spoke to each other when they had to. Relatives visited. Questions were asked. Opinions were offered whether anyone had requested them or not.
At university, nobody knew him.
That was the point.
On his first evening, a boy from the room across the corridor knocked on his door.
“You're new?”
Ayaan looked up from his laptop.
“Yes.”
“Which department?”
Ayaan told him.
The boy nodded.
“I'm Hamza. If you need anything, let me know.”
“Okay.”
The boy waited.
Ayaan looked back at his screen.
After a few seconds, Hamza smiled awkwardly.
“Right. See you.”
Ayaan nodded without looking up.
When the door closed, he returned to his work.
He didn't think he had been rude.
He simply didn't understand why knowing someone's name created an obligation to know anything else about them.
Friendship seemed like another responsibility people volunteered for and then complained about later.
He had watched it happen enough times.
People becoming dependent.
People asking where someone was.
Why they hadn't replied.
Who they were with.
Why they sounded different.
Then apologizing for caring too much.
Ayaan had always found it exhausting.
He preferred observation to participation.
It was easier to understand people when they didn't know you were watching.
By the time the first semester began, he had already learned the campus layout, the shortest route from the hostel to the department, which vending machine usually kept the cold drinks, and which lecturer arrived exactly three minutes late to class.
He had not learned anyone's birthday.
He didn't intend to.
On the first morning, he entered the classroom five minutes before the lecture.
There were already a few students inside.
Some were introducing themselves.
Some had chosen seats in groups despite having met each other less than an hour ago.
Ayaan took a seat near the window.
He placed his notebook on the desk and opened his laptop.
Two boys behind him were discussing a senior.
One of them laughed.
Ayaan didn't turn around.
He didn't need to.
From their voices, he could tell neither of them actually knew the senior they were talking about.
He wrote the date at the top of the page.
Then the classroom became quieter.
A girl entered carrying two books and a bottle of water.
She stopped near the door.
Looked around.
Not because she was lost.
Because almost every seat near the front was occupied.
She walked toward the second row and asked a student to move his bag.
“Can I?”
The student quickly moved it.
“Thanks.”
She sat down.
Ayaan noticed that she had written something on the back of her hand.
Not a phone number.
Not a quote.
A reminder.
He couldn't read it from where he was sitting.
He looked away.
The lecturer entered.
Introductions were brief.
Then came the first problem.
The lecturer wrote a question on the board and turned toward the class.
“Anyone?”
Silence.
A few students looked down at their notebooks.
Ayaan already knew the answer.
He raised his hand.
At almost the same moment, another hand went up.
He looked across the room.
It was the girl from the second row.
The lecturer noticed both.
“Yes?”
She answered first.
Ayaan listened.
She was right.
Mostly.
The lecturer added another condition to the problem.
“Now?”
Ayaan raised his hand again.
So did she.
A few students turned around.
The lecturer smiled.
“All right. Let's see who gets there first.”
Ayaan didn't smile.
Neither did she.
They simply started working.
He finished first.
He explained the solution.
The lecturer nodded.
“Correct.”
Ayaan closed his notebook.
He expected nothing else.
The girl beside the window looked at her own page for a moment.
Then she looked up.
Ayaan thought she would ask where he had learned it.
Instead, she stood when the lecture ended and walked toward him.
“Good one.”
Ayaan looked at her.
“Thanks.”
She held out her hand.
He stared at it for a second before shaking it.
“Alina.”
“Ayaan.”
“I know.”
He raised an eyebrow.
She pointed toward his notebook.
“Your name is written there.”
He looked down.
He hadn't noticed.
Alina smiled.
“You were good.”
“You were close.”
“Close doesn't count.”
“It usually does.”
“Not in exams.”
That made him smile despite himself.
It was brief enough that he almost didn't notice it.
Almost.
Alina picked up her books.
“So, Ayaan.”
“Yes?”
“You always sit alone?”
He glanced toward the empty seat beside him.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I like it.”
She considered that.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
She turned to leave.
Ayaan thought the conversation was over.
It wasn't.
She looked back.
“I'm sitting here tomorrow.”
He looked at the seat.
“Why?”
“Because you already know the answer to everything.”
“I don't.”
“You answered the only question.”
“That doesn't mean anything.”
“It means I can copy your notes.”
Ayaan stared at her.
She laughed.
“I'm joking.”
Then she left.
He watched her join three other girls outside the classroom.
They were talking about something that made her laugh again.
Ayaan looked down at his notebook.
For the first time that morning, he noticed the empty space beside him.
He didn't know why he noticed it.
He closed the notebook and put it into his bag.
Outside, the corridor had already filled with students.
Ayaan waited until most of them had passed before leaving the room.
He was halfway down the stairs when he heard someone call his name.
He turned.
Alina was standing at the top step, holding his pen.
“You forgot this.”
Ayaan looked at the pen.
He hadn't even realized it was missing.
“Thanks.”
She walked down two steps and handed it to him.
“Try not to lose everything on your first day.”
“I didn't lose it.”
“You left it.”
“That's different.”
She smiled.
“Sure.”
Then she continued down the stairs.
Ayaan stood there for another moment, pen between his fingers.
He couldn't explain why the conversation stayed with him after he returned to the hostel that evening.
It was nothing.
Just a first class.
Just a girl being friendly.
Just a pen he had forgotten on a desk.
At the time, Ayaan thought that was all it was.
