2 Minute Worlds

A professor walks into class, opens his notes. Someone whistles.

He looks up. “Who did that?”

Silence. Only the ceiling fan answering with a lazy creak.

He keeps lecturing. Another whistle.

“Who?”

Again, nothing — just innocent faces, like sheep dressed for graduation.

Third whistle.

The professor snaps his notebook shut. “Lecture’s over. Story time.”

Now they’re listening. Even the ceiling fan stops creaking.

“One night I couldn’t sleep,” he says. “I took the car out. Found an old woman hauling groceries. I gave her a lift. She looks at me, all teary-eyed, and says:

‘Doctor Sahib, my illegitimate son studies at your university. Please look after him.’

I say, ‘Sure — but what’s his name?’

She says, ‘No need. You’ll recognize him. He whistles in class.’”

The whole room swivels to one guy. The whistler freezes like a goat in headlights.

The professor smiles.

“Come here, my boy. Did you think I earned my PhD from a donkey supermarket? They were all sold out that day.”

Even the ceiling fan laughs.