Madness In Literature

One

One

Mel was sure she had seen him before. Maybe not in this class but some other ones, seated always at the back. He always had a notebook in his hand, his dark green parka hanging off the side of his bag, could be seen writing furiously into his notebook while the lecturer got ready to start class. Today was no different. His shoulders were hunched, his right arm carved around his notebook as though he was trying to protect it as he wrote. Sometimes she caught herself staring at his hands, which were rough and large, the hands of someone who does menial work. Somewhere at the front of the class, the lecturer cleared his throat. Mel tore her eyes away from the boy and tried to focus on the board. But it was clear her mind was on the boy down the aisle, less than ten chairs down, his eyes darting up and down as he copied whatever the lecturer had been saying.

LIT8001 Madness in Literature. That was the module they were currently studying for, an examination of how psychological disorders were portrayed in movies and books. An elective she hadn’t meant to take but was assigned to because she wouldn’t have enough credit to move onto the next semester otherwise. Was he assigned to it as well? Her eyes slid, like a boat moving through still waters, across the row of opened textbooks and landed on the writing table where his pen was still flying left to right. She could just make out the carve of his cheeks, half hidden by the few students between the two of them, the rise and fall of his breath moving in sync with his pen, and the way he sometimes nodded when he agreed the content of the lecture. Madness, judging from the way he concentrated, was topic of apparent fascination.

He shifted suddenly and Mel quickly looked away, bending her head back down towards her own notes, written half-heartedly and incomplete in certain areas. Her heart had picked up speed but she wasn't sure why. Looking wasn't a crime, was it? She didn’t look in his direction again for the rest of the class. When it was over, however, she took a quick glance and was disappointed to find him already gone. She shoved her books into her bag and joined the line of students exiting the lecture theatre. Her next class, COM2053 A Study of Communication Platforms, would not start until a few hours later. She might as well use the time to study. She broke away from the stream of students going south, towards the cafeteria, and headed towards the library. It was emptier than normal and she managed to get a seat by the window, which was usually occupied whenever she came later in the day. Not more than a minute after she opened her notes, a shadow fell across the table.

“You were watching me.”

Mel looked upon to find the boy from the lecture theatre standing before her, his head cocked to the side as he waited for her reply. When she didn’t, he slid into the seat opposite and tugged at her notes.

“They’re incomplete,” he said as he flipped through them and then slid them back across the table. “Was it because you were watching me?”

“No,” she managed to mumble. “I don’t even know you.”

“But you were watching me,” he insisted. “I saw you. I turned but you always looked away.”

“I was not,” she huffed. “I wasn’t staring at you.”

“Then who?”

“No one.”

He narrowed his eyes at her as though he didn’t believe her words, and she narrowed hers back, even though she could feel her cheeks burning up.

“Fine,” he said finally.

“Fine,” she echoed.

“But you should have complete notes for your assignment. Here. Return them to me at the next class we see each other.”

And as abruptly as he had appeared, he left, leaving Mel clutching at the notes he pushed her way. She read through them quickly and found them to be extremely detailed and insightful, but a frown appeared her face as she thought of something: If she was using his notes to study for her assignment, what was he going to use?