Across the hall from my college hostel room lived a guy who ironed his pants to near death. He was the studious and focused type that parents dream of. Never drank alcohol or brought girls back to his room like the rest of us rotten apples.
Pious. His nose was constantly in his books burning the candle from both ends. The great thing about him was that he never judged our hedonistic tendencies. He Never carried himself as better. He had admirable tolerance to our young idiosyncrasies. His name was Swaleh. Great chap.
