The phone's melodious chime echoed through the room. "Palwasha, pick up the call, please," Sara urged, her face adorned with a curious expression. However, before Palwasha could answer, Sara realized it was just a wrong number. "Okay, then, put it on silent; otherwise, I will toss your mobile phone into the basket. Noted," she said, playfully adding a smile to her face.
"Whose message is this again? Is that person mad? I don't know what he wants from me," Palwasha wondered aloud as she turned to Rimsha. "Can you please pass me that samosa?" she asked. "To be very honest, the taste in Auntie's hands is on another level. Nothing beats this, isn't it, Sara?"
"Absolutely, the world's best samosa is in the cafe of this university," Sara agreed with enthusiasm.
"By the way, Palwasha, have you completed the project assigned by Professor Abdullah? I am still working on mine; you know, it's become quite difficult."
Amidst the conversation, Palwasha's attention drifted to a mysterious text message she had received. She pondered,
"I text when my words need an amigo,
I text when my sky turns gray,
I text when nights become unbearable,
I text when I miss your silence."
She mused, "I don't know this person; I think he must be a student of Wordsworth or any other poet who is always texting me this kind of poetry. Perhaps he's a poet or a fan of poetry."
Lost in her thoughts, Palwasha absentmindedly dipped her samosa in chutney. Suddenly, Sara's voice snapped her back to reality. "Palwasha! What are you doing? You just spilled hot tea on my knees," Sara exclaimed, mildly irritated. "Oh, sorry, I am so sorry. I was somewhere else," Palwasha apologized, feeling slightly embarrassed.
"Alright, let's go now; it's time to head to the class," Rimsha suggested, lightening the mood. They all laughed and made their way to the class, looking forward to the learning and laughter that awaited them.