“What is at the centre of the Earth?” A seventh grade school teacher, with a beaming face questioned the class.
“The core, comprising of hot molten iron is at the centre of the earth.” An affirmative tone answered.
The response riveted the attention of a fantast, who was often led astray by his amusing thoughts. A sedentary last bencher, engulfed by the reply pondered if he was akin to the core, made of iron yet so soft. Encapsulated by the semblance, he lifted his hand to answer, overcoming his hesitation.
“I am! I am the centre of the Earth!” He unusually asserted.
It came as a retort that jolted everyone out of their tranquility. The teacher was left perplexed by the answer of inarticulate child and kept silent.
Five years later, on his last day of school, posing for a selfie with her, he asked her to look into the eye of the camera.
“I am. I am looking at it.” She said staring deep into his flinching eyes.
“You’re definitely going to move planets to get to the zenith! You’re the centre of this universe!” She exclaimed.
An extended geography class became a lifelong memory and he was left, right at the center.