It started drizzling. No professor was in sight. They were free for some time, until somebody turned up with the attendance register.
Lunch boxes had been polished clean at that point of time. Filled with fresh enthusiasm, she ran down to the quadrangle. Standing by the fish tank, she held her hands up. With her palms cupped in the hope of catching a few rain-drops. She looked heavenwards, it was cloudy, indeed. She waited for the soft drops of water to flow along the fold lines of her palm and collect in the centre.
The others appeared with helmets in their hands. She was then reminded to do the same. She rushed to the main door, unlocked her helmet, and ran back, again, to the classroom. On placing the wet helmet on the nearest chair, she skipped outside.
The rain had weakened. Looking skyward, she so wished it would rain hard. A feeling of wetness was essential. Perhaps, to drive away the compressing humidity. Minutes later, the raindrops vanished completely. They were held in the dark and heavy clouds. 'Will they pitter-patter again?', pondered she.
This wish filled her heart, as she stepped into the classroom with a heavy heart. Somebody asked her, 'Is it not raining?'. She shook her head slowly, with gloominess writ on her face.