His shirt collar is crooked.

That is the first thing I noticed.

The top button is buttoned into second buttonhole, making it crooked.

Crooked. Almost out of place.

“Good morning, class.” His usual casual, drowsy tone of voice floats over our head. And he turns to the chalkboard and starts to busily scrawl quick, neat characters across the board. The chalk clicks at the deep green surface, white powder leaving a trail of knowledge. Knowledge to be transferred from one mind to numerous others.

But the other students don’t seem to care. They don’t even notice. Well, I can’t blame them. This is a lecture hall, seating up to three hundred students in one setting. And I’m in the very back row, the far right corner, the farthest seat against the wall. And I noticed. I wonder, how? How could such a tiny, small detail attract my attention. My eyes should be on the chalkboard, following his neat, dusty letters scrawling their way across the board. Not on his shirt collar.

But I can’t tear my eyes away. I try, but my line of sight quickly returns to that one single point. Is it because it’s crooked that my eyes go there? Well, it is quite crooked. Does anyone else notice? I glance around, but give up. Who would even... It’s my fault for not paying attention to the lecture. I shake my head and return my eyes to the front.

It stands out like a four leave clover amongst its fellow three-leafs.

He’s a not so well known professor in my university. His subject is Chemistry. But he dislikes wearing lab coats like all the other science professors. A simple white, collared shirt with striped pants wrapped around his legs.

His shirt collar is crooked.

“...And that’s it for today. Class is dismissed.”

A storm of chairs screeching against the floor. A rain of footfalls upon the ground as people take their leave of the lecture hall. They trickle out through the two side doors on either side of the long chalkboard, two rivers of backpacks and bags. I remain in my seat, the last to go. Organizing my notes with flying pencil tip. He’s down at the front, shuffling through his papers and placing them into a pile. I look up for a split second.

Our eyes flash past each other. A moment.

“Hey, you. Class is over.”

He calls up to me. His drowsy tone. Should I tell him? That his shirt collar is crooked.