The class continues with Sarah asking the other students about their opinions. She encourages the students to think about their character and predict the actions they would take. I pay little attention to the class thereafter. My mind drifts inside. I think about myself. My character, my actions, my existence and my role.

  The class ends in due time. Everyone starts leaving. I am the last one to stand up. I was admiring Sarah as she picked her things up from that mahogany desk.

  Just as I was about to leave, she turns around and asks me, “Ananta, what would you do with power?”

  I do not hesitate. I speak matter of factly, void of any humor.

  “What I said before.”

  Silence.

  We hold eye contact for a moment after which she resumes her task. I see interest in her eyes.

  I want to test something. I have to be cautious, she is very perceptive.

  I will be late for my next class but this will be fun.

  I go up to the desk and stand opposite Sarah. She does not react.

  I take a deep breath. I put my hands on the table and lean in slightly.

  “And professor, what would you do?”

  I look into her soul. She is calm. Poised. She matches my hubris and looks back at me. Her brown eyes stare me down. The nearness sharpens everything. Loose blonde hair framing a face more striking than delicate. Strong brows. A straight nose. A soft but defined jaw that keeps her from looking fragile.

  For a moment I forget the question. I am aware of her mouth. The quiet confidence in the way she breathes. The faint scent of something subtle, not sweet, not floral. Controlled.

  She contemplates long enough for the silence to thicken, never breaking eye contact.

  Finally she replies, “I wouldn’t waste it.”

  There is something dangerous about the symmetry.

  I step back first.

  The spell breaks.

  The day goes by as I attend my other classes. I meet John in the afternoon at the dining hall.

  He is already seated, staring at his tray like it personally insulted him.

  “Fantastic lecture today huh, asshole. Proper cornball you are.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  I sit across from him. “You think about me too much.”

  “I was joking obviously. No way I would say something like that with a straight face.”

  “You absolutely would.”

  He grins. “Okay maybe.”

  I glance at his food. “That looks inedible.”

  “It tastes worse than it looks.”

  “That is impressive.”

  He takes a bite anyway and winces.

  “Where were you the past few days though? You disappeared. Did not answer calls. Did not show up Saturday. Maya said you were either dead or in jail.”

  “She has a vivid imagination.”

  “So do I. Which is why I am asking.”

  I shrug. “Did too much this weekend. Even I do not remember much. Just woke up in my dorm on Sunday.”

  John pauses. “That is not a reassuring sentence.”

  “I woke up. That is reassuring enough.”

  “What were you on?”

  “Nothing special.”

  “That is somehow more concerning.”

  I eat slowly. The food tastes like garbage.

  “You do not even look hungover,” he says. “You look… normal.”

  “Maybe I am built different.”

  “Do not start.”

  Before he can continue, Olive, Maya and Ryu join us.

  “Sup' sup'.” Maya says as she sits in a quickfire.

  "Once was enough." replies John.

  "Unum est draco, bis dracones", quips Maya.

  " Alright fuck you smartass. "

  Ryu pulls a chair back and sits with ease. Even seated he occupies space deliberately.

  “Yo An,” he says. “Where were you this weekend?”

  “Too wasted to remember anything.”

  Maya smiles. “Should have invited me. We could have been wasted together.”

  “If I had invited you, you would have tapped out first.”

  “You underestimate me.”

  “I do not.”

  Olive exhales softly. “You people treat self-destruction like a hobby.”

  “We call it research,” John says.

  “For what?” Olive asks dryly.

  “Human limitation.”

  She shakes her head. “You’re all children.”

  “And yet you sit with us,” Maya replies.

  Olive takes a sip of water, composed. “Observation is educational.”

  Conversation drifts — assignments, an upcoming midterm, gossip about a professor who allegedly plagiarized his own thesis.

  John complains about his statistics class. Maya rants about a group project where she’s doing all the work. Ryu listens more than he speaks.

  Midway through it, he goes quiet.

  He studies me.

  “An… you seem slightly different.”

  There’s no humor in his voice this time.

  John looks up. “Different how?”

  Ryu tilts his head slightly. “I don’t know. You look… fuller. Like you’re holding yourself differently.”

  Maya squints at me theatrically. “Did you get a haircut?”

  “No.”

  “New clothes?”

  “No.”

  Olive says, " Well it does seem he died his hair red and has red contacts. But he keeps changing his colors so it isn't that weird. Btw, you look really dashing An. "

  "Thanks Madam Olive."

  Olive folds her arms. “You’re imagining things Ryu.”

  Ryu doesn’t look away from me. “Your presence feels stronger. Been hitting the gym? Changed something? Or am I just overanalyzing?”

  I shrug, offering nothing. “Probably overanalyzing.”

  John studies me now too. “You do look… less dead inside.”

  “Impossible,” I reply.

  Maya laughs. “Maybe he found religion.”

  “That would require faith,” Olive says.

  Ryu leans back but keeps watching me for a second longer.

  I didn’t expect anyone to notice this quickly.

  Then again, Ryu isn’t ordinary. He’s represented the Asian continent in U-18 basketball. Six foot seven. Around two hundred thirty pounds, roughly 104 kilos. Five inches taller than me. He has some decent muscle as well. If I was a woman, I'd be next in line to hop on his dick.

  Athletes read bodies differently.

  A warrior can sense another warrior. Posture, cadence, the way weight settles into the ground. It’s intuition carved from proximity to failure.

  Sport is a proxy for conflict. No blood. Same instinct.

  Eventually the conversation drifts elsewhere; someone makes a joke, someone checks their phone.

  Soon, everyone forgets Ryu’s comment.

  I don’t.