Spring in Yale
I saw Imani first time talking to someone. It was Cassandra who was trying to explain lot of things to her and she was nodding her head slowly. Half of her face was covered by a yellow scurf, having some handmade flower stitches on them. She was wearing a long grey Salwar, having sharp eyes, medium complexion with a very strong voice. I always wanted to talk to her as she always comes up with some different perspective. I was standing in front of the door and staring at Imani with lot of curiosity. Suddenly, I heard my name, “Lane!!!”
“Could you please come here for a second?” Cassandra shouted from the desk. I tried to behave normal, made a serious face and stand in front of them.
“She won’t be able to come for 2 weeks due to some personal problems, she may need your class notes and time to describe the things Greg and Matt are going to cover in the coming weeks”- Cassandra said without any break.
“I won’t be available from 17th March for Internship. Otherwise I would have shared my notes and could spend some time in group study.” Cassandra looked disappointed.
I looked at Imani and confirmed Cassandra that I will look into this.
“Thank you Lane!!”- First time she talked to me when I was going back. That gripping voice forced me to look back to her. I put up a smile on my face and said “No Problem!!”
I always had a bad habit to find a story in everyone’s life. The traffic police, the school girl who waves me every day from bus, that drugged driver, the Punjabi security guard in front of Yale University, I imagine that everyone has some story. Being a would be lawyer it is quite unrealistic, But I always made my decision free and try not to be judgmental in every situation.
Nobody ever came to meet Imani. Imani, this African word means faith. That Muslim girl hardly talked to anyone for last one year. I saw her in canteen sitting alone and swallowing food and finish her lunch in five minutes. Always trying for a separation, trying to stay aloof from everyone.
It was on Thursday I went to her desk when everybody left and she was packing her bag. She came back on Tuesday. Did not ask me anything. “I have brought my notes for you” – I extended my files to her. She tried to lift her hand and grab it and then I saw, her hand is badly wounded. Bandaged but blood is distinctly visible from outside. She was trying to cover it by a Shawl.
“What happened to you?” I shouted for no reason. She looked a bit blank, I could see some tears in her eyes in pain. She tried to manage it up and proceed to leave. I stopped her.
“Imani, it’s bleeding. You need a doctor immediately!!” I was nervous a bit, don’t know what to do.
Imani looked quite scared. I stopped her again. Told her that if she was not ready to come with me, then I will inform the hostel warden about it. She looked annoyed and convinced this time. Her Eyes were full of tears. I held her hand for the first time and took her to the doctor’s chamber outside the boundaries.
“Are you hit by a gun” the doctor was confused and so am I. Imani was not saying anything and looking down at the ground. I looked at her and asked again “what happened to you?” I understood that she was not ready to answer anything here. I tried to shift the attention of the doctor to a different thing. At last I was able to manage to do some treatment to her and take her back to hostel in Yale.
That was the first time we were in the process of being friends and she started trusting me. I was still curious to know about the story of her accident. But somehow she was able to escape from every questions of mine. She topped in the first semester exam in Yale. We used to discuss about International judicial study, social problems, and global issues and many more subjects together. She was always keen to take part in debates. As a result within few months she became unbeatable and popular in whole Yale for her captivating way of speaking and I became her silent debate partner and closest friend. Some way or another I started falling for this exceptionally talented lady.
