Prof. Leung put a helmet on his own head and closed his eyes. "This is the focus machine - it will read your brain waves, teach you to focus, expand your memory, and increase your learning capacity. With the help of this machine, I learned to read and write Sanskrit in merely a week."

 

"Why did we come to class for this?" Amy muttered. "Just send it to our house la."

 

Prof Leung opened his eyes again and glared in our direction. It seemed the machine had also increased his hearing capacity. I felt Amy ducking away from his gaze, beside me.

"The focus machine must be used with great caution. The classroom environment is fundamental to its operation. Brains can only stay in this vulnerable state for short periods of time, which is why a teacher is required to facilitate the flow of information." 

Someone coughed, nervously. It was Ka Yee, the girl I'd done a presentation with last semester, across the other side of the room. Our eyes met and I wondered if she, or anyone, would dare to object to Prof. Leung. I had seen her in the elevator a couple of times since then, but people on this course didn't talk to each other much outside group projects.

"Well?" Prof. Leung looked around and gestured to his own, helmeted, head. "Let's get started!"

This was the last semester for most of us in Religious Studies master's program, and all sixteen of us needed to pass ‘Ancient Languages, Living Traditions' to graduate. 

Presumably, the whole class had all signed the strange non-disclosure agreement; it was mandatory to scroll through multiple pages of ‘Terms and Conditions' before signing a statement saying you understood that sharing information outside this course would result in a substantial fine and criminal prosecution. Weird, but Prof. Leung was clearly a bit eccentric. Amy and I had discussed it and concluded that Prof. Leung must be paranoid, but he seemed nice enough. We had no idea we were signing up to be his lab rats.

Everyone else was helmeted. Prof. Leung was again impatiently frowning in our direction. I guessed no one was going to speak out against this, and risk doing badly on their final paper. No one would dare refuse the Professor. 

Amy pretended to be having trouble with the buckle but even she could only stall for so long. 

I put the helmet on my head.

First, it was like being underwater in a swimming pool. The smell of chlorine, my eyes stung, my ears were blocked, and I couldn't breathe. 

Then, suddenly, a shift: high definition exploded from everywhere. Tiny details of vision were not just visible but glowing, neon. The weave and weft on the cotton of Prof Leung's shirt! The single hair that was wound around a shoelace on Amy's left sneaker! Sounds and textures were similarly overwhelming. A row of ants crunching around in the leaves outside the window echoed as clearly as if they were rapping on the door. I could feel all the fabric of my clothes weighing on each part of my skin – the denim of my jeans, the poly-cotton blend of my socks – as distinct and unmistakable as if I were running my hand across sandpaper, then silk.

Struggling to cope, I gasped for air...but smell and taste melded together thickly, filling my mouth and nose, throat and lungs. Ka Yee had eaten beef noodles for lunch. I could smell not just the noodles, and the lemon iced tea she'd apparently enjoyed at the same time, but I could smell...this was too strange... I could smell that she was getting a cold. I could smell the text she'd received from her mum while she was eating, asking why she hadn't called yesterday. I could even smell her first day at primary school, the memory of that day almost forgotten by her, but still present very faintly every time she walked into an educational setting. To describe the smell was impossible, but it was similar to the plastic smell of her new Disney Princess schoolbag she'd been excited to wear...

I pressed the buckle down and yanked the helmet off my head, blinking and breathing the – now mercifully blank – air, greedily gulping down the no-taste as I tried to forget everything I'd just experienced. I couldn't bear to look at anyone, even Amy, and I stared at the creamy linoleum floor, but in my peripheral vision I could see the other students ripping the helmets off their own heads, some of them gathering their things and moving towards the door.

Prof. Leung's voice stopped them in their tracks.

"Ahem...apologies for that" 

I could feel the intensity of his embarrassment as if it were my own. My cheeks were burning red on his behalf.

"It appears the focus setting was a little high for comfort. You may have become more attuned to each other than, perhaps, you were accustomed. Again, I apologise, and I must reiterate that I hadn't tried this machine in a group situation before."

 

I suppose that made sense. Our sensory perception was magnified and that would be helpful if it were just you and a list of Sanskrit vocabulary, but it was way too intense around sixteen other people.

But had the Professor actually said it aloud? Or had we all just understood each other? I wondered for a second. The thought vanished into the air, as I clenched my hands open and shut through the dawning anxiety that there was something else I must do now. I wasn't sure what it was, but I was certain it was important. I knew I would find out soon. 

The class realised that time was up for today. We filed, ceremoniously, in perfect unison, towards the exit.