Fleeting Remorse

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Her ears stubbornly tuned out everything else but the needle of the second hand of the clock in the room, as she tried to focus on the words swimming in front of her eyes.

It wasn't her first rodeo, but it was different for two reasons. The first was that this would be the first exam she had been in for five long years in academia. The second was that she was on the other side of the table for the first time. She was the ‘adult’ here.

There are not many rules for writing a final exam in any college — bring your hall ticket, keep your phone on silent and in your bag, and rid your pockets of any materials (including but not limited to bus passes, receipts, random notes). This was for the students.

For the professors, however, only the second rule was common. Apart from that, they had to be vigilant, take regular walking rounds, never sit/stand for too long in the same place and report any case of misconduct or unethical practices to the exam section.

So, she had been quietly going around the room as part of her routine invigilation duties when she spotted the girl fidgeting in her seat. Initially, she thought that it was probably because the student was sitting in the last bench, or because the ceiling fan’s sweet, circulatory air wasn’t reaching her.

She had gone closer to the student to enquire about her wellbeing when she noticed that she had awkwardly placed her hand on top of the question paper, which was in turn placed on top of her answer sheet.

Her gut had churned, trying to tell her something. However, she decided to give the situation the benefit of the doubt and thought of interacting with her only if she still appeared restless in another five minutes. She returned to her desk at the front of her room. It took a lot not to zone in on the girl as she continued to scan her eyes over the room and the other students.

Ten minutes later, she finished labelling the question paper packets and subtly glanced at the girl.

The student was looking at something on her desk, slightly to her left and writing in her answer sheet at a rapid rate – almost at a speed she had never seen since the exam started.

She kept her eyes on the girl as she moved steadily from her desk to her seat at the end of the hall. With a bated breath, she kept walking, crossing fingers that the student wouldn’t look up from whatever she was supposedly engrossed in.

When she was halfway, the student met her eyes.

Well, shit.

The girl froze for a second before shuffling her feet, leaning forward, and immediately putting her left hand below the desk.

She passed the bench the student was sitting on and leaned on the wall behind her and saw that the said left hand was on the girl’s left thigh. She decided to stay there for a while to rule out if she had finally lost it and was hallucinating to get out of the boredom that was invigilation.

Seconds turned into minutes and the girl’s left hand continued to stay below the table, and it was then that she decided that she had enough.

Stepping to the girl’s side, she tapped her hand that was paused over the answer sheet.

“Hi,” she tried saying without clenching her teeth, “Could you show me what’s in your left hand?”

She could see that the girl looked up at her, but she was more focused on the hand that had swiftly tucked itself between her legs.

“Sorry, Ma’am, what?”

The girl was stalling.

She knew it, the girl knew it, heck, the God above knew it.

Taking a deep breath to not feel like a creep, she kept her eyes glued to the girl’s legs and opened her mouth to try again – that is, till something caught her eye.

It was a white patch, with an edge – not unlike the edge of a folded paper, and it was peeking out from between the girl’s lower limbs.

Feigning innocence, are we? Fine, have it your way then.

“Could you step away from your seat, please? I need to pat you down.”

The girl showed no signs of hesitation as she tried to stand.

Keyword: tried.

She could immediately see that there was something amiss with the way the girl was trying to waddle out of her seat - her legs were clenched together.

She had to remind herself that she was a professor and could not, or rather should not, laugh out loud in this situation, because “spread your legs” could hardly be the suitable choice of words.

“Listen to me,” she told the girl as she turned her around to check her back pockets, “I know where you have hidden it, I can practically see it about to fall off, so please do yourself a favour and take out your chit.”

The girl’s eyes went wide as she turned around to face her, “What chit, m-”

This brat!

“Do not lie to me, young lady!” She was firm in her whisper-yelled reprimand, “If you don’t take it out yourself, I will.”

The girl glared for a moment before bending her knees. With a soft thud, the folded paper fell to the ground. She looked back at the professor as if to say, “Now what?”

She held out her hand in silence. As the student bent down and picked up the paper, the last of her calm demeanour left her as she handed over the ‘evidence’.

She took another glimpse around the room and then opened the folded paper. There were tiny, yet neatly printed words, with a stupendously baffling 8 or lower sized letters.

Had she invigilated an exam before?

Of course.

Had she understood the rules and regulations of the current position she was in?

Absolutely.

Yet she found herself trying to justify the 15cm x 15cm piece of paper in her hand.

She recalls often joking about how she needs an ‘adultier adult’ sometimes and today seems to be no different.

Why would she do this?

Her thoughts swim.

Wait, what year is she in?

She glances at the student’s hall ticket – 6th Semester, i.e., a final year student.

Seriously? She’s been here for three years, and she does this now?

The reasonable side of her mind suggests that there have been repeated warnings over the PA system that explicitly stated the heavy three-year disbarment in the case the unethical practice was brought to light.

She looks at the student, into her eyes as the girl looks back. She searches those eyes for remorse and finds none, but it is evident that there’s a lump she’s been trying to swallow for a while.

Sighing, she takes the student’s answer paper, the question paper, her hall ticket and signals for the attendant assigned to the hallway. She expects a plea, a strained voice or whimper, a desperate or small tug to her saree, anything really.

Nothing comes.

She is momentarily distracted by her reminiscent thoughts. She’d been faithful to herself and had never fallen into the temptation of ‘cheating’ in any exam, but she had been envious of some of her classmates who had smuggled in prep notes, managed to complete the exam with it and walked out of the classroom green-handed.

Was she hoping not to get caught? Did she think that I would let her go? Or was she just being reckless?

She sees the attendant walking down the hallway.

Am I being fair? This is three years of her life I’m thinking about. If I give this up now, this kid may never get placed, may never get her degree and could even have a shady origin story.

Stuck, she looks up at the student again and sees a hint of a smirk at the edge of her mouth. She follows her line of sight and is appalled to see another student smiling.

Wow.

The attender has reached her, and she decides it in the split second she sees the man’s questioning eyes.

“You could have chosen differently,” she steels herself and watches coldly as the girl’s eyes widen.

She hands over the papers to the man and submits the rest to fate without a fleeting remorse.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Author's Note:

Now, before we all lose our collective heads over the 'pat down' statement, this was allowed. Any member of the examination team could ask a student to step away from their seat if they had reasonable doubt that they were engaging in any form of malpractice, provided they could establish evidence beyond reasonable doubt – in this case, a chit or cheat sheet.