She taught me how to light a match stick.

My days in the chemistry lab were dark and obnoxious. I had to start my first day in the lab spurting acid on the  eye of my best friend .

The thought that the stroke of my matchstick would put the tiny room in flames  and the idea of holding fire for some seconds on a tiny twig  was eating my brave nature.

I was nervous.  It gave me nightmares to even think of lighting the match stick.

I never overcame it.

The days sped and I lived. So  did  my fear.

Every day in the chemistry lab she would ask me to light the fire. My eyebrows would twitch and my eyes  would plead.

Please don’t give me this heinous task.

She would read my eyes  and insist I do it. Halfheartedly , I would light the fire and heave a sigh when I see that the room didn’t explode.

She ‘d occasionally pull out my ear  when I was too lazy to do my homework.

All the afternoon calls she’d made to see if I was embracing my afternoon siesta instead of pouring myself over textbooks and all those times she caught us in the corridor and sprang chemistry questions on us, all that and more, makes me smile every time I think about her.

I’ll always remember the love she had for us.

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