Chapter 136 Chapter 136

Chapter 136 Chapter 136
The straight-back chair was most uncomfortable. Ravi twisted in his seat, trying to find any position that wouldn’t tilt the wobbly chair. To think the chancellor of Harvard wouldn’t offer a more comfortable seating arrangement to his guests was beyond him. 
Chancellor Ian was peering at him from above the rim of his half-moon eyeglasses. His pale-blue eyes twinkled good-naturedly. 
The chancellor had always seemed like a peculiar sort of fellow. At the introduction ceremony last summer, a grave Professor Kurt had greeted the first-years to Harvard and told of the proud legacy they’d soon be part of. When it had been the chancellor’s turn to step forward, he’d meandered up on the grand stage, pausing before the podium to squat down and consider a butterfly perched on the floor. Holding out a weathered hand, he’d coaxed the yellow-winged bug into his hand, bringing it up with him as he tapped the microphone twice. The audio feedback had made them all wince. The chancellor’s smile had widened.
He’d exclaimed: “Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment. Tweak.” After, he’d put his hand forward, the butterfly taking to the skies as if they'd diligently practised the stunt together. If not for Professor Kurt uprooting, forcefully clapping her hands in staccato, Ravi suspected they might still be suspended in stasis, dazed.
“Ravi, my boy,” the chancellor decided it was time to speak. He grabbed hold of his white beard, twirling the ends as he leaned back in his chair. “You’re doing great things, I have heard. Thanks to you, Harvard is becoming quite famous in terms of Rugby.”
Ravi bobbed his head, fingers tapping against the swell of his thigh. “Thank you.” Words were never easy, especially not when receiving praise from strange old men with butterfly fascinations. The chancellor was unpredictable, far away from the simple sentiment: compiling or not. It was unsettling.
The raven-haired lad’s quiet demeanor did not seem to deter the chancellor; the opposite. Ravi found this, if possible, even more unsettling.
“But we’re not here to talk about rugby. No matter how absolutely thrilling I believe the conversation to be.” He winked. Ravi drummed his fingers faster. “It has come to our attention that you recently changed your last name. To Baldwin of all things.”
What wouldn’t he do to have Thomas here with him? He’d just been so surprised when he’d received an email to appear at the chancellor's office at his earliest convenience, he’d walked off without thinking. 
Silence lingered. Ravi’s brain choked as he searched for something to say. “Yes?”
“Why did you change it, I wonder?” He did not like the narrow gaze, the way the chancellor was stroking his finger against his chin. Despite the whimsical appearance, Ian was sharp, the twinkle in his eyes turning into a gleam for a fraction of a second.
“Krauser was my foster parents' last name. I wanted to change my last name to match that of my actual parents. They were Baldwin.”
“Why now?”
Was it part of the chancellor's role to question his students' choices? To put his nose in business that wasn't of university matters? Ravi didn’t feel comfortable protesting the strange inquiries. It was easier to just fold. He wasn’t like a certain blonde, all sharp-tongued and poised. Able to weed his way through the most forceful of conversations and come out on top. Heart thawing at the thought, Ravi felt the phantom feeling of soft, pale skin beneath his hands. It had been six days since he last saw him, spoke to him even, and yet it didn’t hurt. Not since he knew Denis was his. 
Mine. Yours.
“I found someone who knew them. I suppose I got to know them through him.”
The chancellor hummed, then rose from behind the desk, throwing his hands out, assuming the likeness of the Jesus statue in Rio. “The love of a parent carries beyond everything. It does not matter if they are here or not, because their love will always touch you.”
Ravi nodded, neck cranked as he watched the tall man. His hair was kept in a loose ponytail in the back, and his clothes were flowy, similar to a shimmering dark robe. Ian appeared timeless, like the man had been here when the castle was built, and would be here long after it turned to ruins.  
The chancellor clapped his hands, tilting his head most peculiarly. “You have a visitor.”
There was movement behind the white-bearded man, a short figure stepping forward from the surprisingly many crooks and crannies of the round office. Bookcases were lining the walls, and strange objects were haphazardly placed all around. Despite the chaos, it did not look messy; instead, it was homey – if the home belonged to a mad scientist with a kink for mysticism. 
Ravi’s eyebrows climbed as he recognised the approaching man. He looked the same as he’d done last: small yet stout, large hawk nose, squinted eyes, and square rimless glasses. The man still wore the same expression as then, crinkled brows and pursed lips, the look closely resembling someone realising they’d just stepped in dog poop. 
“So we meet again, Ravi Baldwin.”
It should have occurred to him earlier. Way earlier. Because back in the Whitman dormitory, the man had asked for a Baldwin, had he not? Ravi flushed, hand creeping up to scratch the nape of his neck, the rough sensation of scarred skin like balm to his soul. 
“Sorry mate….”
The man visibly jerked upon being referred to as ‘mate.’
“...I mean, sir.”
He straightened, wetting his parched lips as his eyes flickered between the proud man and the humming chancellor. Was Ian tracing a bird sailing across the room, or was perhaps the old man a bit mad? Ravi sure as hell did not see what the man found so fascinating in the ceiling. The short man glanced at the chancellor as well, the look of slight discomfort intensifying. He pushed his eyeglasses up his hawk-nose; the glass reflecting the bright light propelling through the ten-foot windows. 
Ravi shook his throbbing head, returning to the matter at hand. “You’ve been looking for me?”
The stout man kept staring at Ian. He cleared his throat pointedly. “Well, if we could have some privacy.”