Suman was late. That was uncharacteristic of him and he was flustered. As he pushed open the door and walked into the classroom, the professor looked up with a cheery "Hi, there!"

"Hello, Good evening... Sorry I'm late..." he replied apologetically as he took a seat at the near corner of the U-shaped desk that ran around the small, but brightly lit room.

"No problem, I just got here myself and was passing out the course outline," said the elderly man. "Here's yours!"

As the students on his left passed on his copy to him and he nodded his thanks, Suman noted that there were only six students in all, counting himself.  

The two young men on the right were both engrossed in their cell phones, one of them smiling to himself at something he was reading (probably a message from his girlfriend) while the other was taking a picture of the sheet of paper in front of him. Their appearances were just as different as their actions – the former lean and lanky with unruly locks, and the latter stocky and bespectacled, with perfectly combed hair, every strand in place.

Sales and Accounts, he guessed.

The remaining three, who were on his left, were women. The two girls sitting side by side looked like they were just out of college and could have been classmates during their undergraduate programme. Their chairs were turned slightly towards each other rather than front-facing, and they were keeping up a continuous whispering. They also possessed identical Wonder Woman pencil cases (which he could recognise, having grown up with the comics himself).

Best friends, he corrected himself.

The third woman sat a little apart from the rest, in the seat closest to the teacher’s desk. She was upright in her chair, fully facing the professor, and her right arm, encased in a long black sleeve, was poised with a pen in hand over a thick notebook, ready to start taking notes. Long, straight, black hair fell to her waist, and from her overall structure and the slimness of her arm, he imagined that her face must be oval-shaped.

He was surprised at this thought, so he quickly put on his reading glasses and looked down at the course details.

The professor resumed, "And so, we will be having only one written exam but a couple of presentations and a term paper..."

It was his boss who had suggested the evening classes. Suman had been good at his engineering role, but his boss wanted to nominate him for a company-sponsored management degree programme at one of the top international universities in the city. "It'll help fast-track your next promotion, you know," he had said to convince him. “And you will be studying alongside people of other nationalities, which will increase your multi-cultural exposure.”

Not that he needed convincing. The part-time programme was just the thing to fill his empty evenings.

He was almost fifty, yet he had a full head of jet-black hair. Granted, there was gray now in his temples, and his hairline had receded a few centimetres over the last couple of years, but overall, with his trim, wiry frame, he had a youthful appearance. There was something about his thin, solemn face and his thoughtful eyes that made women turn to look at him and exchange smiles at what they whisperingly referred to as his "cute, boyish looks".

He was completely unaware of this, though. He was not a ladies' man. On the other hand, he had been a faithful, if negligent husband (he often had to travel in the early years of their marriage) but when fate had struck him a cruel blow, leaving him to bring up their eight-year-old daughter on his own, he had realised that they had never really had the time to grow close as a couple. Then he had resolved not to make the same mistake with his child that he had made with his spouse, and taking a less demanding - albeit lower-paying - job, buried his regrets in the task of parenting.

That was a good fifteen years back. Now Sunitha was no longer a motherless little girl but an independent young woman living and working abroad, and he had found himself alone in the old house with nothing to keep him company but his lonely thoughts.

“I’d like you all to submit your paper summaries next week,” went on the professor. “Any questions?”

The young man with the unruly hair raised his hand. “How many classes can we afford to miss?”

As the two girls started to giggle, the elderly gentleman chuckled good-naturedly, “Well, that’s a most flattering way to start the course!”

And then of course, everyone erupted in laughter while the student grinned sheepishly, reddening as he tried to explain that he was often held up at work.

That helped break the ice and people were now smiling and looking around at one another. Yet the straight-backed woman did not turn around. Suman found that intriguing and was once more surprised at himself.

“All right now, who can tell me what the subject of organizational behavior is about – without reading from the course outline?”

Up shot the arm of the woman in front. “It’s about understanding why people behave the way they do in the workplace,” she said in a clear, confident tone. “… How they feel towards various things, how they interact with others, and what their motivations are – basically what makes them tick.”

Human Resources, most likely. He found the sound of her voice pleasing.

“Excellent! Your answer is spot on! Now let us elaborate on that a bit before we start with the first topic…”

It was an interesting session and Suman found that he could relate to the concepts as they were all concerned with what he experienced at work. The professor was a jovial old fellow, and the opportunity, as well as the requirement to participate in classroom discussions, was a refreshing change from his engineering classes way back in the day.

When class got over, he went forward to check with the professor that his name was on the list, since he had come in late. As the others trooped out of the room, the woman alone remained, still writing in her notebook. But as he reached the teacher’s desk, she rose to leave, and he finally got a full view of her face.

It was oval-shaped (just as he had imagined) and she had intense black eyes under soft, delicate eyebrows, high cheekbones, and a finely sculpted nose. In that instant, she looked up too and he felt a sudden jolt as their eyes met for a moment. Then she looked away, unsmiling, and with a proud swish of her long hair, turned and walked out.

Later that night, when he thought about the class and his batchmates, he speculated that after himself, this woman was the only one who was not a youngster, since her mature face and even more mature behaviour marked her as being in her mid-thirties, or older.

That is still a whole decade younger, said a voice in his head, and he flushed in response, although there was no one in the quiet house to witness his discomfiture.

Through the early introductory sessions for each subject, they had all soon come to know basic details about one another’s personal and professional backgrounds. He had mentioned that he was a single parent to a grown daughter and had noticed Jasmine turning to look at him when he said that.

“My wife had an undiagnosed congenital heart defect,” he found himself explaining rather unnecessarily, perhaps unconsciously wishing to highlight that he did not represent one half of a marriage that had been broken for unkind reasons.

Jasmine had only shared that she was supporting a mother and younger sister back home, and he was wondering about the presence of a man in her life, when Jim had solved the problem for him with a direct question.

“No,” she had replied rather curtly, but Suman felt his spirits lift and was surprised to find himself silently appreciating the younger man’s bluntness.

He was learning Graduate Business school jargon. OB was short for Organizational Behaviour and Stats stood for Business Statistics. Fin and Mark were Finance and Marketing, respectively, while Micro and Macro referred to the two courses in Economics.

OB classes were lively and enjoyable as they involved several group activities and case discussions that required the students to interact a lot. Although Suman found the course interesting and the girls seemed to enjoy it too, the two young men felt rather lost.

Jim, in particular, objected to what he described as “totally unnecessary and confusing jargon”. “Why do we need so many similar-sounding terms?” he would complain. “Self-efficacy, self-esteem, self-worth… Why can’t we just call them all self-confidence?”

As Prakasit endorsed this with a high-five, chuckling quietly in agreement, Suman enjoyed watching Jasmine’s dark eyes flash as she defended her favourite subject with much passion and some exasperated eye-rolling. 

He admired her enthusiasm for the subject and also how knowledgeable she was. She was quite reflective too and had several theories for people’s behaviour.

He had been highly surprised when he had discovered that she was an English teacher in a school, and he told her so. “I thought you were an HR professional since you seemed so good at OB, and of course you are very good!”

She laughed at his assumption. “I just find people very interesting, that’s all. There’s so much to observe in my school, you know? That’s why I like reading articles on organisational psychology – I want to understand what’s going on in people’s minds. Like – why does Kamaal make his leave requests only in the middle of the week? Why does Rosie prefer to have lunch alone, or with the Maths teachers, but never with her own colleagues? You know – things like that!” 

“So, why do they?” he asked, smiling.

“I don’t know exactly, but what I’m saying is, I like reading these theories because they help me in trying to understand the reasons for people’s behavior, including my own!”

“Right, so you are interested in people! That explains why you studied English literature, too. Well then, tell me, who’s your favourite hero?”

He was surprised at himself for this friendly bantering but would have been shocked if anyone had suggested that he was mildly flirting with her.

He felt pretty sure of her answer, though. Mr. Darcy. His daughter swooned over him, and so did all her friends. (Although he never could understand why.)

“Atticus Finch from To Kill A Mockingbird,” she said. “My favourite read from childhood – I must have read it a thousand times! Have you?”

“Why, yes, I have read it too… But that’s an interesting response – what is it about him that impressed you?”

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s compassionate and just. He’s highly principled, and he wishes to bring his children up with the right values – basic humanity, kindness, and tolerance. And as a single parent, it must have been tough, but he managed!”

“Yes, it’s tough…” he responded in a low voice, but she went on, “My father wasn’t a good man… he wasn’t a good husband – he left my mother to fend for herself and us kids, and he only ever contacted her when he needed money. So, you see why a character like Atticus Finch would give someone like me hope? Hope that there are some good men in the world, good fathers…?” 

He nodded in assent but the whole conversation silenced him. Poor Jasmine. What her life must have been like! He thought of Suni and shuddered inwardly at how she might have been impacted if he had been a negligent father.

But was he a good one? And would he be as inspiring to Jasmine as Atticus Finch? Was that what she was trying to tell him…? 

“Who’s your favourite heroine?”

He gave a short laugh, as embarrassed by her question as by the train of thought that she had interrupted.

“Do you watch Star Trek?” he asked, after a moment’s hesitation.

“Of course!” She had turned towards him now, curiosity burning in her eyes.

“Well, if you’ve watched Deep Space Nine, then you would know her – Kira Nerys – you know, the Bajoran Major attached to the space station…”

“Yes, of course, I have – of course, I do! Oh wow, I love her! But why do you like her?”

He shrugged thoughtfully, looking away into the distance. “Well, she’s the bravest woman I’ve ever known – you know, in fiction – I’ve never seen her break down or give up under any circumstances, not even when the man she loves, dies. She’s a fighter, yet she’s compassionate, and she’s not averse to overcoming her biases and learning and growing. I loved her character arc...”

He looked back at her and found her hanging onto his words in breathless anticipation. “Go on,” she said.

“Well, that’s it! Oh, and she’s also beautiful, I guess – smart and beautiful. Very, very smart-looking!”

She sighed then, letting out the breath she had been holding. “I’m surprised you didn’t say ‘sexy’,” she said. “That’s what men usually say about the women they admire, right?”

“Well, I don’t consider that a good word!” he responded, and she laughed.

“You’d be surprised – it’s considered a compliment by men and women alike… But I so love your old-fashioned ideas…”

Suman felt the colour rise in his face. As he suddenly found his attention taken by the tips of his shoes, he hoped she could not see how pleased he was with her compliment.

In stark contrast to the OB class, the Finance course was dull and dreary. The professor had a grim demeanour which did nothing to make the sessions any better, and the group’s usual camaraderie was marked by its absence. The only ones who seemed moderately comfortable were the two girls and Prakasit with their shared background in Accountancy.

Suman just barely managed to follow the classes (although he was pleasantly surprised by this, having assumed the worst after the professor read out the course contents and evaluation pattern on the first day in a rather ominous tone).

It was a different story for poor Jim and Jasmine. 

Suman could not help admiring the effort that Jasmine was putting in, and he also appreciated the kindness of Annie and Li in taking turns to explain the concepts to her. He rather envied them for this opportunity, but unfortunately, his grasp of the subject was not strong enough and he feared she might fail the exam if he tried to help.

Jim, on the other hand, had given up. He declined Prakasit’s quietly worded invitation to join him in combined study, by loudly declaring that he would be taking the supplementary in the summer.

If the professor heard him, he gave no sign.

The Stats lecturer was a dynamic young man who kept his face studiously averted from the two girls, a feat that was rather remarkable given that there were so few students in the class. His behaviour was understandable, though. He had a slightly thick accent and the girls tended to giggle at every third sentence of his. However, Suman could not help suspecting that their merriment had rather less to do with his speech and somewhat more to do with his youth.

But he was good at teaching the subject and Suman enjoyed the sessions. This was a course in which he was in his element, and soon his classmates were staying back after class, asking him doubts and seeking his help in solving problems.

Suddenly, Wednesdays took on a new colour in his life. He found himself sitting up for an extra hour the night before, going through the scheduled topics in advance and he set his alarm ten minutes earlier than usual so that he had enough time in the morning to achieve the perfect clean-shaven look.  He even dabbed on some after-shave, risking the inevitable good-natured ribbing at work. But comments and speculations from his chums notwithstanding, he made sure to leave office a little early so as not to be late for Stats class by even a minute.

Needless to say, these group study sessions brought him into closer contact with Jasmine and he soon began to feel an unexpressed, yet perceptible connection between them. Perhaps it had something to do with the look of intense concentration with which she listened to his explanations of complex (or not) statistical concepts and in the way her serious face lit up with a smile whenever she turned around in class and met his eyes. 

Or perhaps it was because of how she had looked at him when she discovered him in the parking lot after class one night, shirtsleeves rolled up, kneeling on the concrete in his formal trousers in the act of helping Prakasit change the tyre on his car. And how her face brightened when she learnt from the two girls that he had helped them find cheaper accommodation in a safer locality near the university.

Once he lent Jim some money to help tide him over until payday, and as he was entering class the next day he heard the younger man sharing this information with the others, with much warmth and gratitude. Everyone had turned to look at him with smiles of appreciation and Suman had been visibly embarrassed by the undesired publicity. But the image that remained in his mind for the rest of the evening was that of Jasmine’s eyes shining with something more than mere admiration for his small act of kindness.

“What does your name mean?” she asked him one day.

“Suman? Well, the prefix su means ‘good’, and man – rhyming with ‘run’ and ‘fun’ –  means ‘mind’. So basically, it means ‘one with a good mind or wise mind’.”

“That’s certainly true! No wonder everyone flocks around you for help with Stats…!” She was teasing, but her shining eyes belied the levity of her words.

 He smiled at that, but went on, “You know, in its various forms in several Indian languages, man can also mean ‘heart’, so you could even say it means ‘good heart’…”

“I like that meaning better because that’s who you are – a good-hearted person! You’re such a good man…!” she declared.

“Thank you, that’s a kind thing to say,” he said, and he flushed to the roots of his hair.

He, in turn, was happy to find that they held similar opinions on various aspects of life, particularly ethics.

Sadly, the younger people did not always think it wrong to “help” one another in their assignments, but to his pleasant surprise (and relief) Jasmine refused to indulge this habit of theirs. “Ask me any doubts, and I’ll clear them, but you can’t copy from me!” she would protest, and the delinquent would grumblingly turn to one of the others.

Interestingly, no one ever approached Suman with such requests, and he was surprised and gratified to learn that the universal perception of him was that he was an upright and honourable man. But what pleased him, even more, was that Jasmine was so much like him.

It had been a particularly tough Fin class in which even Prakasit and the two girls had to rack their brains to solve the problem given by the professor. Suman managed to get halfway through but then could not proceed further, probably due to a mistake he must have made in an earlier step. As he retraced his working, he glanced around to see how the others were faring.

The three Accountancy students were scribbling away furiously, although erasers were being used almost as frequently as pencils. After a cursory glance at the worksheet, Jim was playing games on his phone. (The professor did not seem to care, though.) Jasmine was bent over her sheet, uncharacteristically chewing on her pencil while her other hand clutched at her hair. Suman could not help smiling at just how like a schoolgirl she looked in that moment.

But at last, even that arduous session was over. As people started packing their bags and chatting in relief, Suman noticed an undergraduate student enter and hesitantly approach the teacher’s desk, apparently come to hand over a late submission. He watched half-absently as the boy stammered his apologies to the stern-faced man, confiding that when he had realised he was the only one in his class to have forgotten the assignment, he had found himself “in a very embracing position”.

At which the professor said, “Indeed!” – yet without a trace of humour on his poker face, causing Jasmine to turn and look at Suman, eyes twinkling with mirth as she tried in vain not to laugh. He grinned back, realising that it was the first time he was seeing her smile in a Finance class.

No one else had witnessed the amusing exchange though, busy as they were with their own conversations, and he felt suddenly pleased at their private moment of shared intimacy. 

Then they too rose to leave and by happenstance reached the door at the same time, and without giving it much thought, Suman pulled it towards him and held it open for Jasmine to pass. As she walked out, she looked up at him with such a look of warmth in her eyes that he would have had to be either blind or extremely dull to fail to read its meaning.

His heart gave a mighty leap but as its beating normalised, he knew life would never be normal again.

He had fallen in love.

When he spoke to Suni, she was pleasantly surprised to find that her father seemed to be enjoying being back at school “in his old age” as she put it teasingly.

“What’s up, Daddy? Are you topping in every subject and crowing over all your poor little classmates? Have pity on them – they don’t have your age and experience…” she said, laughing.

“Well, not in all subjects!” he rallied back. 

“Tell me about your class,” she persisted. “Are your teachers intimidated by you? Who’s the class buffoon? There’s always one, you know! And is there anyone at all of a suitable age for you to have a decent conversation?”

Reluctantly, he gave her a breakdown of the professors and students, taking care to insert Jasmine’s name somewhere in the middle, just casually mentioning, “Oh, and there’s a schoolteacher too...”

He was relieved when the call ended. Suni had a woman’s natural intuition, and he would rather stay out of her radar for now. His secret was too precious to be shared with anyone just yet.

Midterm exams came and went. Results were gloated over or groaned about as the case may be. Regardless, as the term progressed, the group grew closer and began to have dinner together, or at least coffee and snacks, before parting for the night. Sometimes, one or more of them would excuse themselves, but increasingly, Suman found himself looking forward to these informal get-togethers beyond classroom discussions.

On his fiftieth birthday (the two girls having somehow espied his driving license and his date of birth on it) the group had organised a small surprise party, complete with cake and a candle in the shape of the numeral defining his age. The treat was the group’s present to him.

But as they left the restaurant, Jasmine slipped him a small package. When he got home, he opened it with slightly trembling fingers and found a simple table-top placard with the inscription:

“You inspire me.

Words are not enough.”

That night saw him awake for a long while, switching on the bedside lamp every so often to re-read the words that Jasmine had hand-painted in her slanted, flowing writing. When he finally fell asleep it was well after 3 a.m. in the morning, and he turned up for work so bleary-eyed that his colleagues were tempted to suspect he had a hangover, except that they knew he did not drink.

One night towards the end of the term, it turned out that Jasmine and he were the only ones who did not have other plans and he felt both nervous and excited at the prospect of a private dinner with her. He feared, though, that she might excuse herself from the tête-à-tête. 

But she did not.

“Tonight is my treat,” she said, the moment they had seated themselves. He was about to protest when she added, “It’s my birthday this weekend.”

“Oh…! Advance birthday wishes!” he said. “I didn’t know – I’m sorry that I don’t have anything for you – I could have got you a book or at least a chocolate…!”

She waved his regret away with a smile. “I prefer to avoid sweets, and you can always lend me a book from your home library – that’s good enough for me!”

“Let me at least treat you – you all treated me on my birthday!”

“That was the group’s decision,” she said. “This is mine.”

He smiled in defeat, and they went on to order their meal.

As they coursed through soup and starters, they chatted about various things – the latest superhero movie playing in the theatre (Suman was rather young at heart), a new book by a hitherto unknown author that was topping the bestseller list, and where they could get the best vegan sushi.

Soon after the main course was served, Jasmine said very casually, as if it were the next natural topic in the conversation, “I can’t believe I’ll be thirty in just another two years…”

Suman halted abruptly in the act of taking his fork to his mouth.

Had he heard her right?

He didn’t realise he was staring at her until she went on, “Yeah, thirty is a milestone, right? No longer young! But I still have two more years – I'm just turning twenty-eight…”

He quickly dropped his eyes and nodded as if he was not in the least surprised by what she had said.  Forcing himself to pick up the fork that he had unconsciously put down, he tried to resume eating.

Jasmine was now chattering away in full flow, which was rather unlike her, but Suman was in no state to ponder over this mystery. He was instead thankful that all he had to do was nod and make unintelligible sounds of acknowledgement from time to time. Of greater concern was what to do about his sudden lack of appetite. Pushing around the food on his plate, he valiantly tried to do justice to her treat with the help of several sips of water. But when she suggested dessert, he was forced to decline with a stammered apology, thereby plunging the failing birthday dinner into a grand anti-climax.  

Jasmine could not keep up the pretence any longer. With anxiety written large on her face, she asked, “Are you all right? You don’t seem to have eaten much tonight…”

“I’m okay – just sudden heartburn… I’m sorry I couldn’t do justice to your treat…” he managed to stammer.

“That’s all right, I’m only worried about you – will you be okay?”

When Suman hastened to assure her that a couple of antacids should do the trick and he would be fine once he got home, she called for the bill, but still with a worried look in her eyes.

They left the restaurant and made their way in silence to the curb, where they focused their attention on trying to flag down a passing cab.

“I’m sorry to have spoilt your birthday treat,” Suman managed to say as one rolled to a stop and he opened the door for her.

“No – I’m sorry,” she replied, fixing him with a look of deep remorse before she turned to get in. “I hope you get well soon…”

He mumbled his thanks as he shut the door behind her with a parting wave.

But as the cab sped away, Suman felt as if a door had just been slammed on all his foolish dreams of the last few months.

He did not know how he reached home that night. His hands and feet (and possibly his car itself in anthropomorphic sympathy) had taken him home automatically using his muscle memory of where to turn and when to stop.

That night and the weekend passed in a haze with just one thought repeating itself over and over in his brain:

Twenty-eight years! Only twenty-eight years of age…!

 As Suman’s initial agitation started to wear off and his mind gradually became clearer, he began to reflect more deeply on the situation – Jasmine was only twenty-eight, which made her hardly five years older than his own daughter!

What would Suni think of him?! Wouldn’t she be horrified, devastated that her father had stooped so low by falling for a young woman her own age?

What about society? His relatives, his friends – colleagues – wouldn’t they laugh at him? Condemn him, despise him?

He was no wealthy celebrity immune to the jibes of society through his fame and status – he was just an ordinary man who very much lived among regular people and to whom his image and reputation mattered. He could never live down the taunts!

His stomach churned and he felt his mouth go dry.

What had happened to him? He had been living a simple, well-ordered life, lonely though it had been. He had never considered remarrying even when well-intentioned family and friends had suggested it all those years back, when Suni might have benefitted from a mother’s care. He had refused then, fearing the worst from a stepmother.

Now of course, Suni was grown and independent. But how would she react if she came to know that her father – her beloved Daddy – had fallen in love with a woman her age? How could he ever expect her to digest this knowledge, let alone accept it or approve of it?

Shame engulfed him as he glanced in the mirror.  Not a man to normally bother about his looks, now every crease on his face, every strand of gray in his temples made him cringe. He was so old! What had he been thinking?!

Was he then no different from the aging patriarchs in tribes and villages across the world whom he had always condemned for marrying child brides? Had he also then merely succumbed to the stereotypical interest of a middle-aged man in a much younger woman?

And Jasmine – what might she think of him?

He had allowed himself to develop romantic feelings for her, foolishly assuming that she was in her late thirties, thus younger to him by at most a decade. (Of course, he could never tell her that – indeed, only the most unchivalrous man would dream of telling a woman that he thought she was older than she actually was!)

Even more foolish had been his belief that she reciprocated his interest. She had probably just looked up to him as a father figure – a kind man whom she felt safe to interact with, someone who would never take advantage of her.

And now – if she realised how he felt towards her – would she not consider him a predatory male – preying on the vulnerability of a fatherless young woman, someone who had been looking all her life for a good man…?

A good man! How the words stung him now.

As waves of guilt flooded over him, he found that he could not swallow any food. By the third day, his lack of appetite had created acute gastritis and heartburn, forcing him to the chemist for medication.

Noticing his sudden pallor, his boss decided to talk to him over lunch. But he was alarmed when he saw that Suman could not eat even a morsel. “What’s the matter? Are you unwell, Suman?” he demanded.

As Suman shook his head with a half-baked excuse, his boss silenced him with a raised hand. “No – I’ve been observing you for a while – You’re not okay. I would have thought it was stress, but I’ve made your workload lighter and you’re doing well in your programme, so, I’m worried about other possible health issues… I want you to get a medical check-up done – this week! No excuses, Suman…!”

Suman did not want to argue although he knew there was nothing physically wrong with him. However, as he continued to struggle with his gloom, the sinking pull of depression tugged at his sanity and it seemed to him that the earth had suddenly opened to form a yawning chasm between him and Jasmine – a deep, dark abyss that threatened to swallow him and all that he valued, if he so much as thought of reaching across to the other side.   

For the remaining few sessions of the term, Suman took care that he was the last to enter the room and during class, he studiously kept his eyes on his notebook to avoid meeting the puzzled glances that he knew Jasmine kept directing towards him from time to time.

He was also the first to leave the classroom these days and he avoided the elevator like the plague. He raced down the steps to the floor below and hid in the men’s washroom there until he felt fairly certain that all the lift passengers had left the building. Only after that would he slowly emerge from his hideout, but he still took the stairs to buy himself more time in case anyone was dawdling on the ground floor.

This strategy was, however, soon brought to an untimely end through the unwitting intervention of his classmates. On the third day, Prakasit, entering the men’s room after seeing the girls off at the lift, startled him as he stood aimlessly in front of the washbasins. Misreading the pained look on his face, the younger man enquired with genuine concern if he was unwell and needed any help.

Suman had a tough time convincing him otherwise and had barely sent him on his way when Jim came barging in, demanding aggrievedly, “Hey man, what the hell are you doing here?! I’ve been looking all over for you…!”

After that, he started frequenting the washroom on the fifth floor, and then generally lounged around in the lobby for another ten minutes.

Once, lost in his gloomy thoughts, he forgot his whereabouts and stopped in his pacing in full view of the lift. Imagine his horror when the doors opened and he found the entire class in there, the OB professor included! To complete his mortification, the elderly gentleman pressed the door-open button and cheerily called out, “Hey, there, Su-man! Come on in!”

He had no choice but to accept the invitation, but the moment he entered the small space, the overweight alarm started beeping. He felt the back of his neck go red even as he heard the two girls trying to suppress their giggles, and he said rather awkwardly, “I guess I better take the stairs…”

“Sorry about that!” The professor’s voice rang in his stinging ears as Suman stepped back out and the lift doors shut behind him.

In those few moments, however, he had been acutely aware of Jasmine’s presence in the group. Aided only by his peripheral vision, he could still recognise her form and height, and it seemed to him as if the entire lift were pervaded by her perfume.

He deactivated Line App notifications and delayed reading and responding to her solicitous enquiries. When he finally did reply, it was just a curt explanation that “something had come up at work” and that he was very busy with it. It had the intended effect for she did not reach out again after that, and now he noticed from the corner of his eyes, that she no longer turned around in class to look at him.

It hurt, of course. But he was already hurting, so it made no difference.

Or so he told himself.

When exams approached and the others suggested group studies, particularly for Stats, he again cited work to excuse himself, thereby sustaining his elusion of his classmates, especially the one he longed to meet but knew he must avoid.

It was a pity that some of them might struggle without his tutoring, but his current depressed mental state was not facilitative of altruism – it was a miracle that he was even able to focus on his own studies.

It was final exam time, and the university was almost deserted because, across disciplines, many of the professors substituted individual viva voce evaluations for mass written ones. These oral exams were spread over a few days and Suman’s turn was usually last.

His final viva got over at around 6 p.m. and as he came out of the professor’s office, he again felt glad that none of his classmates would be around since their slots had all been earlier in the week. But as he shut the door behind him, he realised he did not want to drive back home just then. While the exam itself had gone well, he was feeling rather low and did not look forward to a lonely evening at home without any studies to occupy his mind.

After debating for a moment in the empty corridor, he decided to take a stroll around the quiet and beautiful campus, finding solace in the anonymity provided by the growing dusk. Of course, the grounds would soon be well-lit and the friendly security personnel were almost ubiquitous throughout the university premises, but it was a comforting thought that he would not be immediately discernible to anyone emerging from a building.

He stopped by one of the lotus ponds, gazing with sorrowful eyes at the pale blooms nestling amidst the dark green lotus pads and the lighter-hued moss on the water surface. How Jasmine had admired these blossoms! There – he could see a rare yellow one almost hidden among its more common pink brethren... and here was one in her favourite violet colour – he remembered how she had teased him for describing it as blue…

He recalled the impromptu picnic they had had on one of the semi-circular benches near these ponds, on a day when he had taken the afternoon off from work to spend some time in the university library.  After almost three hours of solid study, he had decided to while away time before class by walking in the grounds, and by sheer accident had come upon Jasmine reading there. She had some snacks with her and tea in a flask and had invited him to join her, and they had spent an enjoyable hour talking about the books they liked, delighting in the discovery of common favourites.

He sighed at the memory.

As he resumed walking, lights came on simultaneously throughout the grounds, transforming the place into a scene from a fairy-tale. He looked up at a lamp post as he passed it, remembering how she had appreciated the intricate lantern shapes of the bulb casings.

Engrossed in his ruminations, he reached the short but wide, semi-circular flight of steps that surrounded the clocktower and halted for a minute. He could see the tall, artificial Christmas tree sparkling brightly outside the gate opposite, and on the spur of the moment, he decided to sit there for a while and soak in the ambience.

It was probably not a very wise decision. As he looked around and took in all the familiar sights, he could feel his heart growing heavier.

The human mind is so masochistic, he thought, wryly. It takes pleasure in revisiting places that remind us of special people, but that are now just empty spaces - as empty as the heart that is viewing them…

Crows were cawing sporadically as they began settling down in the trees bordering the campus walls. The night security arrived to replace his day counterpart, and they chatted briefly before parting. Darkness fell. Mosquitoes buzzed around his ears and he swatted at them.

He could see people leaving or entering various buildings in ones and twos but preoccupied as he was with his somber thoughts, he did not pay them much attention.

He remained there for a while, unaware of the passage of time or even of his surroundings, until suddenly, a silhouette appeared in the doorway of the chapel and yanked him back to the present with a shock.

As the familiar figure emerged from the house of prayer, he wanted to rise and walk rapidly away, but for a few moments, it felt as if he were frozen to the spot. And after that, it was simply too late for him to move without giving himself away.

Jasmine – for it was she – seemed to be walking in his direction, and he waited with pounding heart, hoping that she might turn away without recognising him. But his hope was ill-founded as she continued to approach him, stopping only when she stood right before the steps.

There was a moment’s silence as they looked at each other in the dim light. Her face was in shadow, though, and he could not discern her emotions.

“Hi,” he said, a little nervously.

“So…! This is where you have been hiding all these days!” was her sharp response.

He did not know exactly what he had expected her to say, but it certainly was not this.

 “No… I only came here today…” he replied mildly, yet valiantly refuting the veracity of her accusation.

She looked away seeming to debate over something, and perhaps his peaceable response softened her a little, for after a moment she sat down too on a lower step.

“How was your viva?” she asked, still without looking at him.

“Good, I guess… Thanks for asking. How was yours?”

She made a derisive gesture, and he was not entirely sure if it was meant for the viva or for him.

After casting about in his mind for something safe to say, he finally ventured to ask what he considered a perfectly harmless question: “Were you praying at the chapel…?” 

“Will it make any difference?” was the rather tangential but belligerent reply.

The security guard looked at them curiously as he paced past the clocktower on his rounds, and Suman was silent.

But Jasmine never could beat about the bush. Turning to face him, she asked in a voice that shook slightly, “What have I done to make you avoid me? Did I say or do anything that hurt or offended you?”

“No, of course not…!”

“Then?”

Maybe because it was the last day of the term and he would not be seeing her again for several weeks, or maybe he had missed her too much and suffered enough – Whatever the reason, Suman felt inspired to match her honesty.

“Well, it’s just that I felt so ashamed of myself that I couldn’t face you…”

“But why?”

He drew a deep breath and turned to face her.

“I am in love with you,” he said with an air of surrender. “I tried fighting it, but failed…” 

“So?” Her question rang out clearly in the silence and seemed intended to provoke him to answer.

He was flummoxed by this, and she elaborated, “Why avoid me?”

“I’m fifty years old – I fear that the age difference is way too high…”

She continued to look at him with an inscrutable expression on her face, and Suman felt the need for further explanation.

“I could be your father, you know,” he said, his voice dropping in shame. “My daughter is hardly five years younger than you… It would be an abomination in the eyes of society!”

“Society…!” she said dismissively but after a moment’s pause, added more softly, “But I understand regarding your daughter – Do you fear her disapproval?”

He shook his head sadly. “I am not sure – She is mature and generally very understanding, but I am still worried – this would be too much for her to take… I’m afraid of losing her respect and affection…”

She nodded. “I understand…”

But after a pause, she went on, “My father was never a part of my life or my sister’s. But your case is different – you are not going to leave her or love her any less because of me, are you?”

“That is true, but still...”

His mind was in a whirl. What did she mean by this? Had he then not misread her as he had been fearing these last few miserable weeks…? Her reaction was not at all like he had feared it might be, and his brow contracted in perplexity, forming three deep creases.

She loved observing him when he was like this – forehead crinkled in contemplation, eyes deeply thoughtful, gray temples standing out in sharp contrast to his dark hair... So wise and wonderful. She felt a sudden (and alarming) urge to reach out and smooth away his worry lines but clenching her fist to resist it, she sighed and looked away.

He followed her gaze to the gray bulk of the library building looming in the dark across the courtyard. Windows glowed brightly here and there on different floors, attesting to human presence within and serving as a reminder that not all exams were over yet.

He drew his mind back to the two of them. He was still confused, but if his current re-assessment of her feelings was correct, how he must have hurt her by his avoidance!

“Jasmine…” he began, but stopped as she turned around, eyes gleaming with emotion.

“We don’t have to date, you know,” she said softly.

He laughed in embarrassment. “I don’t even know what dating is!”

She could not help smiling, then. His ignorance of the complexities of modern-day relationships was yet another aspect that added to his charm. She would never be able to get over him – never be able to live out the rest of her life without regret if she lost him!

“Dating exists on a whole continuum,” she explained. “If we ever were to date, we would be at the old-fashioned end of the spectrum, I assure you. This is one of the many reasons why you are so dear to me…” Her voice tapered off, and she turned away, suddenly shy.

This was the closest she had ever come to openly disclosing her feelings for him and Suman glanced quickly at her in surprise. It was also the first time he was seeing her blush, and this added to the medley of emotions he was experiencing.

When she glanced back at him again, he could see her eyes glistening with tears, yet she managed a smile, and he smiled back tentatively.

“Do you consider me a gold-digger?” Her voice was low and husky with emotion.

He was startled by the question. “What?! No – never!”

As she remained silent, he joked weakly, “I’m not wealthy, anyway…!” 

“Well, I’m glad you’re not, and I’m happy you understand me. Look, I don’t mind admitting that I do want a father figure, but I’m certainly not looking for a sugar daddy – I’m self-sufficient and can support my mother and sister without anybody’s help!”

“I know. That is why I admire you…” he admitted, warmly.

“We are similar in so many ways, and I feel so connected to you,” she continued. “Don’t you feel it too?”

It sounded as if she were challenging him to deny this, but her lips quivered.

He nodded, his heart quickening in spite of himself as he felt the plea in her question.

“You could at least try talking to your daughter about us,” she said. “I really would love to meet her, get to know her – and let her get to know me as you do…”

“I would like that too…”

Suddenly the clock above them began to strike the hour, making them jump. They laughed, then, and as the last stroke faded away, the tension between them seemed to ease.

“I didn’t plan this either,” she said, her voice much gentler now. “You know – meeting an older man… But as I came to know you well, I started questioning my earlier conditioning – does age really matter when you find a truly good person, someone whom you recognise at the level of your soul…?”

He found himself listening intently as Jasmine went on, “Who decides what’s the right age difference anyway? Or even the question of who should be older in a relationship?”

He shrugged, pursing his lips (another trademark habit of his that she found endearing). “Society, I guess. Well, I’m sure you’re aware of the sociological reasons – you know, reasons for mate selection like fertility and parenting capabilities and so on…”

She nodded, but asked, “What of same-sex couples, then?”

At his look of surprise, she went on, “Yes, we don’t think about them, do we? But the point I’m trying to make is – in a non-heterosexual relationship, would it matter how much age difference there was or who was older?”

He shrugged again. “I’m not sure, I guess not…”

“So, then, why should it matter in a heteroromantic one?”

He had no answer to that, so he shook his head in silence.

The night was still and clear, and the old-fashioned lamps shone serenely from their posts, their lights reflected in the lotus ponds below. A frog croaked suddenly. A brief chorus ensued as it was answered by another, and then another. This was followed by a ‘plop’ as one of them plunged into the water.

Plop, plop. Silence.

A heavy scent, emanating from unfamiliar flowers, was swilling around them in the night air. 

In that peaceful stillness, it all suddenly felt so right, and it dawned on him that he had never been surer of anything in his entire life as he was now of what she meant to him.

There was no going back. She was strong, brave, and beautiful and he had never before enjoyed such intellectually stimulating conversations with anyone, let alone a woman. He had found a soul companion in the lonely autumn of his life, and he could not – indeed, did not even want to – quench this beautiful new emotion that had been awakened in his heart.

A group of students spilling out from the library caught his attention, laughing and talking as they debated where to go for dinner, and he sighed, almost envious of their cheer.

She reached for his hand then and asked plaintively, “Why can’t we just be two people growing organically together?”

Her lovely, feminine hand looked so tiny in his large palm, that for a moment, he felt a pang and all the old insecurities threatened to come charging back. But then he shrugged them off, both mentally and physically.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, trying to sound light. “How would you like us to begin?”

She laughed as she rose, still holding his hand so that he found himself rising too.

“We already began – a long time ago – when you held the door open for me after the Fin class, remember?”

How could he forget? And had that not also been the evening when that poor kid had come into their class to speak to their professor and unwittingly given Jasmine and him a moment of shared hilarity? He found himself reliving all those memories as she became her normal confiding self again, secure in the certainty of their shared affection.

She tugged at his hand and he came back to the present.

“Listen, why don’t we have a hot chocolate at that little café so that I can tell you all about my viva…?”

“Certainly,” he replied, only too happy to oblige.

They strolled slowly past the smiling security guard and out through the gates, pausing for a moment to admire the magnificent Christmas tree before turning in the direction of the main road. They could see the cheerful lights of the twenty-four-hour coffee house twinkling welcomingly at them from the street corner, and as they walked towards it, Suman realised that they were still holding hands.

But he did not want to let go. As they passed under a streetlight, he could see their shadows grow beneath them and it struck the engineer in him that their linked arms formed the image of a bridge.

Indeed, she had taken the effort to try and build one between them, when all he had seen was the chasm.