Aydar Salimov (Apt #203)

The room smelled of leftover daily pizza. It was still dark when Aydar shoved his papers to the side and stretched, trying to ignore the familiar discomfort that came with falling asleep on the old couch. He sighed, got up, and rolled up the blinds. The soft autumnal light illuminated his crowded apartment. It seemed as though the bookshelves lining his walls were pushing in every direction. On the bookshelves sat hundreds of books ranging from psychology textbooks to ancient ballads. Despite the ample shelving, numerous file folders, papers, books, and unpacked boxes covered every other possible surface. Aydar glanced at the boxes, which remained unopened: a reminder of his displacement. The apartment had looked like this since Aydar’s arrival; however, the mess was becoming unreasonable. Aydar grabbed his keys and began slicing through the masking tape firmly holding the boxes together. It appeared that he would be spending his first break of the year cleaning. Slowly, the boxes we...

The day started with a multitude of chattering voices. The voices clanged around the room, bouncing off ancient models of the brain, squeaking through stacks of papers, cracking against glass window panes. Aydar rubbed the bridge of his nose where his glasses seemed to be pressing into his head and rapped his knuckles on the table. The students turned towards the sharp noise and fell silent. Aydar continued his lesson in the silence; however, an occasional glance around the room told him enough. Chins sinking into the palms of their hands, eyes glazed over, the occasional nod. No one actually cared about the functions of the frontal lobe, they were far too preoccupied by Mr. Evans’ death. Aydar was used to a little disinterest, after all, psychology wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but today’s absolute lack of focus struck a nerve. He felt a the pang of loneliness that he had been ignoring for far too long. It was completely illogical to be jealous of a dead man, yet the idea of eve...