Monday, 14 March 2016


What's naught?


She shivers, making hisses of condensed air which fogs up her skewed glasses as she blows into her palms, trying to transfer some bodily heat to her numbing fingers. Tucking her worn and faded purple jacket closer, she makes another attempt in tackling the problems. With a crooked black mechanical pencil held tightly in hand, neat and tidy letters slowly fill up the thin white paper as she scrawls on and on. Unbeknownst to her, evident lines of each letter began appearing on the stack of writing paper underneath, imprinted due to her powerful and heavy strokes. She hunches forward ever so slightly as she becomes more and more engrossed by the problem at hand, her nose almost touching the paper. Then, she looks up suddenly, adjusting her ever-dropping spectacles with a slight off-handed motion of her hand as she notices my scrutiny for the past fifteen minutes or so.

“What?” she asked incredulously as I smiled.  


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