Professor Aditya Verma did not simply see his students. He dissected them. From his position at the front of the lecture hall, he watched the shifting sea of young faces, categorizing them into types. The eager ones, their hands shooting up before he had even finished his question, desperate for a scrap of validation. The bored ones, their eyes glazed over, minds already elsewhere, waiting for the clock to release them. The rebels, their postures a study in performative indifference.
And then there were the hidden ones. The ones with secrets. Those were his favorites.
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