After the first section of the professor's
lecture came to the end, I entered the room of the lecturers near the door of
the auditorium, with the other students following me. Professor Mulryne, who
was delivering the lecture, was chatting with a student and several other
faculty members. Those who were studying for a Master’s degree - some for a PhD
- were sitting in this large room reading or doing some physics questions. Some
came here to drink water, buy a cup of coffee or a cup of tea. Many students
came to discuss how to answer difficult physics questions here.
I bought a cup of tea from the machine and
stood near to the window to drink it. It was in that moment that felt a pair of
eyes on me - the eyes of a beautiful South Asian-looking woman. I smiled at her
and flipped through the pages of a ‘physicsworld’ magazine on the table. She
walked towards me with a warm smile on her face and in no time at all, she was
standing near me and bending over the magazine.
"Do you have any relationship to the
country (…)?" she mentioned a name of a south Asian country.
"No, I was born in Sri Lanka and live
here now, though many people have asked if I was from that country. Perhaps I
look like one of them," I said. "I take it you are from that
country?”
"Yes, I am.”
“Aren't there many people from (…) around this
area?"
A significant number of people from the
country in question had been living in this area of London (where our
university was situated) for several decades. Perhaps it was because of that
that I had seen many descendants of families who had emigrated from that
country as students in this university.
"Yes, you’re right,” she replied. “Did
you started the degree last year?"
"Yes – it's quite difficult but I
wanted to; I love the subject. I did the level of higher maths needed for the
course almost fifteen years ago."
"Do you still remember it? I graduated
with a maths degree almost two years ago and I’ve already forgotten what I
did." She laughed.
"I have been downloading the open
university BSc mathematics courses – they were available online for free. After
completing them, I was fine, though I have to admit, my mathematical knowledge
was good in those days.”
"Then I can ask for your help?"
she winked at me. I was surprised by her direct approach. The country she came
from was strictly religious and known to ‘discipline’ women harshly.
"No problem," I replied, and
started walking back into the auditorium for the rest of the lecture. That was
the first time we met.
I went to lectures again next Thursday. She
arrived to the lecture late. She had a beautiful smile on her face when she sat
next to me and during the break, we chatted a lot. I learned that she had come
to England many years ago and obtained her first Honors Degree for mathematics.
After both lectures scheduled for the day finished, we came out of the auditorium
together.
"Which way are you going now?" I
asked.
"I have to take the 102 bus to Bethnal
Green. You?"
"I came by car. Normally I travel by
tube but I missed the train this morning. I parked my car at the next block on
the other side of the road. If you want, I can give you a lift." I
offered.
"That's okay. I’ll go by bus, but we
can walk together to your car," she said as we stepped out through the
university gate.
‘What is she trying to do?’ The question
was spinning through my mind.
When we were outside, as we were walking
and crossing the road, I noticed a kind of restlessness in her and a sense that
she was trying to hide from other people. At first, I thought it was because
she was a Muslim girl and felt shy. However, when I thought back to how straightforward
she was on the day I first met her, I realised that that might not be the
reason.
She glanced left and right once and suddenly
started walking very fast. I was shocked at the speed she was walking – it was
as if someone was chasing her.
During next few weeks, she’d sit next to me
at lectures and we had our tea together. After lectures, we always exited the
university together.
One day, Brian - an English guy - asked me
slowly whether we were lovers. I very firmly told him ‘no’.
"See, I know you’re married."
I wondered how he knew I was married. Then
it occurred to me that I had told Sarah about it one day - a physics teacher
who studied with us.
"Pretty girl! Can I ask her out on a
date?" Brian asked.
"Go ahead. Why should I care?" I
replied with a bit of hostility.
The next day, when she talked to me,
I realised that she wasn’t in her usual friendly mood.
"Are you my custodian?" She
asked.
"Why?"
"Did you tell Brian to ask me out on a
date?"
"Are you crazy? I should hit him. He
asked me whether we were lovers. When I said no, he asked whether it was okay for
him to go on a date with you. I said he could do whatever he wanted to - I didn't
care."
Her face suddenly became very gloomy, as if
grey clouds had been cast over it. "You really don’t care?"
Her question confused me.
"I don't want to go out on a date with
him. I told him that," she said in a very sad voice.
I grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the
building in which we had our lectures. Directly on our right hand side was the
students’ cafeteria. On the left was our pub, where you could buy beer at a cheaper
price than outside the university (as well tea or coffee). Most of the time you
could see teachers, students and their friends having coffee or beer on the wooden
benches.
I bought two cups of coffee for us both and
we sat on a bench in the corner, where no one was around.
"I’m married." I said, looking at
her directly.
"Did I ask?" She fired back.
With nothing to say, I stared at her for
few moments.
"Sarah told me." She murmured in
a low voice. So... she had known that I was a married student.
"Isn't your name Siya?" I asked
after a moment.
Even though we had sat beside each other
during lectures, left the university, had tea and solved our maths questions
together over the past two and a half months, I had never asked her name. At
that moment, it came to my attention that she too had never asked any personal questions
about me.
"Yes, you knew that."
"No, I just guessed - I once saw the
name on an assignment you handed in.”
"Oh. And your name?” She asked.
"Call me Priyan."
"But isn't your name something
else?"
"No, I go by Priyan – it’s a shortened
form of my name. In this country, names are very short. I think it’s easier to
pronounce Priyan."
"Yes… Priyan. I like that name. It has a musical sound."
