Teeny Tiny Shots|✓

Just say the Word ✓

Tags: Mild angst/Romance/College/Rejection/Humor/Fluff

Word Count: 6k words

"Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt but what you taught us yesterday was slightly different from what you're teaching today." Amya objects, a pen spinning between her fingers and gaze concentrated on the whiteboard.

Her professor, though, doesn't look too happy on the interruption and raises an eyebrow.

"Is that so? Then what did I teach yesterday?" He challenges her, something that Amya is unable to back out from.

"You were teaching us about Morphology and the morphemes, not phonemes. I reckon you have the topics confused with each other." She tells him, as politely as she can, and from her periphery can see her bench mate shaking her head.

She sighs. It's not that she doesn't know how feared Professor Singh is amidst the students and how no one dares to correct him or talk back to him, but studying a different topic when he was discussing something else yesterday doesn't seem like a viable option to her, hence her objection.

But obviously, the infamous professor and his pride doesn't let him accept his mistake. "I don't think so. I'm pretty sure we were discussing Phonetics and phonemes. Your classmates don't object. Do you, class?" he asks the students and is immediately greeted with a complete silence, neither a no nor a yes.

Amya rolls her eyes at her classmates' silence. Will they rather study the wrong topic than saying something to the professor? Guess they'll do.

However, she knows that she can't judge them on that. There was a time when she too wasn't very studious and only studied to pass the exams but the continuous turbulence in her twenty-one-year-old life gave her enough lessons to remember a lifetime. They made her weak but also strong, they made her uncertain but also sure, sure of her goal of studying and getting a scholarship to that one University in Europe that would ultimately fulfil her dreams.

She knows the path is harsh and long but not impossible. It never is. And so she has made it a point to be best in her class and preferably in her college, even if it may require correcting the dreaded Professor Sinha.

"See? No one objects." The professor exclaims, smirking. Amya doesn't think she can do anything anymore if the teacher isn't ready to accept his mistake and so sighing when Amya is just about to give in and say a drawled out 'ok', a student raises his hand, quickly finding her gaze, giving her a cocky grin and then turning to the professor who has his eyes slightly widened seeing who the student is.

It is the ever notorious, a backbencher, campus crush and of course, the Dean's son, Siddharth Chauhan.

"Yes, Siddharth?" The professor's voice is slightly hesitant but cold when he speaks to him and it also has an underlying tone of surprise, as if he wasn't expecting him to answer back. No one was if the slightly gaping mouths of the other students are anything to go by.

"Sir, Amya is right. You were telling us about morphemes and not about phonemes. The two are completely different subtopics of linguistics that can't be mixed up. Surprisingly, this was one of those rare topics that I made notes of." He smirks, raising his notebook in the air, an air of smugness surrounding him.

The professor flusters a little at his sincere answer, definitely not expecting it from a backbencher. He goes around the desks of other students, asking them for their notes and looking through them, himself.

It's in the last ten minutes of the class that the professor starts explaining to them about 'morphemes' and the linguist who coined the term.

Amya looks around to the last bench, just to find Siddharth dozing off on the last seat. The sight has her shaking her head with a hint of a smile on her lips.