He solved hard problems for us taught sincerely in the class but the moment he held the pen sweats would flood his palm like a nagging rain that his army of handkerchief couldn’t bring any relief with the dripping moisture like a school of sharks devoured our paper’s ink marks and from the workouts already done steps were wiped out one by one.
At those times he wouldn’t speak only looked at us apologetic burdened as if with guilt’s weight for the treachery of his ceaseless sweat that forced him to desist from anymore writing close his pen and start dictating.
Then one day we saw him bring out a cream his agony had reached such an extreme with that he rubbed his palms with glee looked he had solved a great mystery said now this would lock all the doors stop sweat’s pour through skin’s pores.