Chapter 57

Frankie stared at his phone, the words familiar yet strung together in a way that seemed to mock his understanding.

Lost in thought for too long, his thick framed glasses slid down his nose before he caught them with a single hand, nudging them back into place with a practiced push. Squinting, he looked at the screen once more.

Frankie, a znan in his sixties, face etched with lines of time and fingers trembling slightly, deleted his meticulously typed message to replace it with a less certain reply, “Are you pulling my leg?”

An eighteen–year–old girl proving Batra’s Conjecture? It seemed about as likely as a piglet winning at the Kentucky Derby

LearnLover replied, “What?”

LearnLover continued, ‘What’s your email?”

Frankie composed himself and sent his email address. Then, setting down his phone, he waited in silence.

Patience, he reminded himself.

Over the years, there had been many claims of proving Batra’s Conjecture, only to fall apart under scrutiny. riddled with errors. Perhaps this girl was just another wild goose chase.

He took a deep breath. About five minutes later, a reminder from his computer announced the arrival of an email, his phone lighting up in tandem.

LearnLover said, ‘I sent it. Did you get it?‘

Frankie asked, half in disbelief, “Do you even know what you’ve proven?”

Perhaps she didn’t understand the magnitude of the conjecture in the mathematics.

LearnLover replied, “Batra’s Conjecture. It was tough, sure. I had it half done when you first reached out. With this last week, it took me about twenty days total.

Frankie was dumbfounded.

how many had spent their lifetimes without cracking

With

hope, Frankie replied, “Alright, I’ll take

message, he downloaded and printed thirty–some pages of draft proofs, binding them in order before turning to the first page. Once he started

reply. With ten minutes left before class ended, she pulled out

the math club, watched her with a mix of curiosity and concern. He’d been researching Batra’s Conjecture and realized she’d

Conjecture isn’t kid’s stuff. You shouldn’t bite off more

at him, indifferent, and quickened her

sophomore last year! Moreover, he won the first prize in the National League last year. If he hadn’t had a physical problem and didn’t

her books quickly, and walked out with

ramble Juliana came out of physics class. At the sight of Hanley. she hastily came after him, ‘Hanley!”

to her, sheepishly shifting the conversation, “I heard Mr. Stanton visited you for an assessment. With

her voice a whisper, “No”

I heard Stanton took on a

Jay She seemed so lonely and never had proper schooling or friends. I let

Hanley accompanied her back to class, murmuring, “Just as I thought, Cordelia, raised in an orphanage, wouldn’t

workbook, but

assumptions

League? Keen’s leading the polls, then some guy from out of the province Jake’s

the national champion made Juliana scoff, “National champion is not a

Lost in t

toward the last row where Cordelia packed her bag. Memories flooded back when

back, “Td say it’s

books, Hanley couldn’t help but watch her go, a flicker of doubt in

his mind.

maybe, she could

higher for the statewide math competition. Only the top whiz would be plucked from the ranks to compete in the National League showdown. Everyone else, despite being dubbed first–rate, might as well have been runner–ups. What did

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