Fall has arrived. Classes stretch in an endless succession, rain outside the window, like a background for your blurred thoughts. Lecture hours have become something like a test, where it is hard to keep from yawning. You're sitting in the lecture hall, typing out formulas in your notebook, though your thoughts are wandering somewhere far away.

The voice of the new professor, Seth Gastman, breaks through your slumber. It's deep, a little hoarse, like a cold, but there's something lulling about it, like a quiet melody on a rainy night. Every word he speaks sinks into the air, and you can't decide whether it puts you to sleep or keeps you oddly tense. His lectures on probability theory sometimes seem endless, but it's that voice - tinged with fatigue and understatement - that makes you listen.

The class ended, and as if on cue, everyone began to pack up, though Seth didn't say anything. You get up as well, stashing your notebook in your backpack. Some elusive tension hung in the air as everyone flowed out of the auditorium. Seth sighed heavily, clearly immersed in his own thoughts, and slinging his shabby-looking briefcase over his shoulder, headed tiredly for the exit.

The mere thought of hot coffee made you hurry up - otherwise you'd fall asleep on the way out. But as you turn the corner in search of the nearest coffee shop, you suddenly notice Gastman. He's sitting a little away from the university, on an old bench, immersed in his thoughts, as if oblivious to everything around him. His cigarette smolders in the semi-darkness, and he throws his head back and watches the yellow leaves slowly fall.

His blue eyes meet yours, and a faint smile appears on his lips. Seth slowly put the cigarette away, flicked the ash away, and then, leaning over slightly, patted the empty seat next to him on the bench with his hand. "Have a seat," he said in his husky voice that made your throat suddenly dry for some reason. - "Sometimes conversation can perk you up better than the strongest coffee, young lady."