Luckiest Unlucky Person

 

White is the new red.JPG
White is the new red. PHOTO CREDITS: HADIA KHANANI, M.B.B.S, BATCH XVIII

BY: SYED USMAN ZIA, M.B.B.S., BATCH XX 

It was an Anatomy quiz and I went a bit too early.
Our instructor randomly selected students for the prompt assessment.

“Next,” the teacher looked at me.
I was able to survive the first four definitions…
Then she asked the fifth and last question.

“Define hypertrophy.”

“It is an increase in the number of cells.”

“That is hyperplasia,” an unfamiliar sound poured into my ear… a voice with a fine combination of sheer innocence and charm, filled with a sort of shyness that would make anyone reluctant to ever refuse her and yet so mellifluous to make you wonder whether she is up to something.

She smiled as she corrected me in the most subtle of ways. There was something about her in that moment that held my gaze. Her eyes met mine. I couldn’t breathe. At last, she averted her glance downward, and my lungs remembered how to function. Even if the entire surfactant layer was eroded away, my bronchioles still wouldn’t collapse.

“Thank you… Alizey?”

“Manaahil!”

“I’m not interested in names”— I gave her a crooked smile—”I’ve never been interested in names, actually. I remember beautiful people through their eyes.”
Her hazel eyes sparkled as she blushed.

“So, yeah! Consider it a rare exception,” I said, ruining whatever was happening here, as she left with a befuddled look on her face.

My sister always used to say, “Anyone who has you will be the luckiest unlucky person in this world.”
I couldn’t decipher what it meant then, but right now, at this very moment… It makes perfect sense.

About the author: Solitude is a writer’s elysium.

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