Time: 28 April, 1 A.C. (After Corona)

It was the last class of the semester.

Our History professor looked exhausted. There was a quiet tension on her face, as if she were racing against time. She seemed to be in a hurry. After all, she had only this one class left to finish the entire syllabus.

She took a deep breath, composed herself, entered the classroom, and began teaching.

The topic was Nazism and Fascism.

The class started at 9:30 a.m. The room was only half full, yet every face carried an unmistakable sense of unease. The silence felt heavier than the lecture itself.

One face, however, looked more anxious than the rest.

Yaw had been behaving strangely for days.

Yesterday she had asked me,

"Will there be class tomorrow?"

"Yes," I had replied.

She asked me the same question again that morning.

And again a few minutes later.

In fact, it was the fifth time she had asked it, and she had been asking the same thing since the day before.

How strange.

Who gets so excited about attending classes?

Aren't they supposed to be boring?

I pushed the thought aside and tried to focus.

The pandemic had changed everything. We had to sit far away from one another, leaving empty benches between us. I couldn't even whisper to Ruja and Yajum about the latest gossip.

I had been dying to tell them about the college's latest snitching scandal.

Yajum, however, was absent.

Someone whispered that several people from her colony had been taken to the Centre.

I hated that name.

No one who went there ever came back.

At least, no one we knew.

God alone knew what happened inside those walls.

Meanwhile, the lecture continued.

Our professor somehow managed to finish Nazism and Fascism. Only World War II remained.

History never seemed to end.

Why couldn't people in the past simply mind their own business instead of creating wars for future students to memorize?

Thankfully, the examinations would be online.

Our professor closed her book and looked at us.

"Should I continue now," she asked, "or should we finish tomorrow? I still have to cover World War II. I'll come to college if all of you come. What do you say? Or should I just give you notes? Maybe an online class?"

"Ma'am," I suggested, "let's just click pictures of the remaining pages, make a PDF, and share it in the group. We'll study from that. Anyway, the exam is online."

She smiled for the first time that morning.

"That sounds good. Click the pictures, make a PDF, and share it. I suppose that means our History syllabus is finally complete."

There was relief in her voice.

Some pages I photographed.

Some Ruja did.

Yajum wasn't there.

We uploaded the PDF to the class group, and just like that, the semester came to an end.

Then, quite suddenly, I felt like taking a group photograph.

After all, it was our last class together.

We rearranged the benches, stood shoulder to shoulder despite the warnings, smiled behind tired eyes, and clicked a few pictures.

Everyone was ready to leave.

To return to wherever they had come from.

Just then Yaw spoke again.

"Will there be class tomorrow?"

I couldn't help laughing.

"There won't be any classes, you dumbo. This was our last one. From next month, we'll be on break."

"Okay," Yaw replied quietly.

And for the first time, I wondered if she had been asking something entirely different.

Will there really be class tomorrow?

Not tomorrow.

Ever again?

Will Yajum and the others return from the Centre?

Will these empty benches ever be filled once more?

Will we sit together without fear, gossip through lectures, complain about History, and wait for the bell to ring?

No one had the answers.

Carrying those questions with us, we walked toward the canteen for one last cup of tea and one last conversation.

Who knows?

Will there ever be another class?