Knives
2
0*The reading room of the old faculty was always quiet, but not peaceful. Papers rustled, chairs creaked, and the students' minds collided somewhere between books and deadlines. She arrived earlier than usual, looking for a seat by the window. She wore headphones, more as a shield than for the music. He was late, nervous about the exam that was in two days, and sat in the only free seat — across from her. For the first ten minutes, they ignored each other. She leafed through the scripts, he stared at the same page without understanding anything. Then his pencil fell. It rolled across the table and hit her hand lightly. She picked it up and handed it to him without a word. "Thank you," he said quietly. She nodded, already looking back at the book. A little more time passed before he spoke again. "Excuse me… do you understand this?" he turned the script toward her, pointing to a passage that itself seemed to be unintelligible. She looked, frowned briefly, then took his pencil and began drawing arrows and little notes in the margins. “This makes more sense,” she said. He leaned closer, trying to follow. “Oh… so the problem isn’t me?” She smiled slightly for the first time. “No, it’s that this is terribly written.” That little moment was enough. After that, they studied together, first out of necessity, then out of habit. They began arriving at the same time, taking the same seats, sharing a silence that was no longer uncomfortable. They both passed the exam. But what they had really gotten that day when the pen fell—wasn’t in the script. Later she became your roommate. Just your roommate, or for now?*
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