It was a bright morning on the tarmac of an isolated airfield. Seven university professors stood in a small group, shading their eyes against the sun as they looked at the sleek, modern airplane sitting on the runway. The gleaming plane had been constructed as part of a secretive university experiment, and these professors, from the departments of engineering, physics, and even psychology, had been gathered to participate in a unique test flight.
They had all been briefed on the basics: they would sit as passengers in this plane, and it would take off for a short, low-altitude flight. There was excitement and a touch of unease among the group; a slight flutter in the stomach, not unlike the nervousness that comes before a big lecture. But the professors had been assured that the plane had undergone rigorous testing and that everything was "perfectly safe."
As they boarded, some admired the sleek interiors, while others made offhand comments about aerodynamics and fuel efficiency. Their professional curiosity masked a growing tension, though. The sense that something was unusual here was palpable, though none of them could quite put a finger on why.
The plane taxied to the runway, and they buckled their seatbelts. They felt the engines hum, a vibration that rose steadily as the plane prepared for takeoff. Then, just as the plane began to roll forward, a voice came through the intercom.
“Dear professors, before we take off, we want to share an important detail about this aircraft,” the voice said, echoing slightly in the cabin. “This plane was designed and built entirely by your students.”
There was a moment of stunned silence.
Then, as if choreographed, six of the professors unbuckled their seatbelts, eyes wide, and bolted for the exit. They hurried down the narrow aisle, their academic composure shattered by a mix of disbelief and fear. They practically tumbled out of the plane, their faces pale, shaking their heads. One of them even muttered, "No way am I trusting my life to a group that couldn’t even finish their senior projects on time!"
But when the rush of professors leaving had ended, only one remained seated.
Dr. Thomas Harper, a senior professor of mechanical engineering, sat calmly in his seat, the edges of his mouth curled into a slight smile. He watched his colleagues leave without any apparent intention of joining them. He seemed completely at ease, even as the engines hummed and the rest of the professors, now safely on the ground, stared up at him through the windows, bewildered.
A few minutes later, a curious staff member who had witnessed the exodus approached Dr. Harper, leaning in through the open plane door. “Professor Harper,” she asked, a mix of surprise and confusion in her voice, “why didn’t you leave with the others? Aren’t you worried about the plane being built by students?”
Dr. Harper chuckled softly and shook his head. He looked out the window for a moment, then back at her, his eyes twinkling with a knowing amusement. “Worried? Oh, no. Not at all,” he said, his voice warm and calm. “You see, I know these students. I know their work.”
He paused, letting out a small sigh before continuing. “I knew from the start that this plane would never even take off.”
The staff member blinked, taken aback. “You mean…?”
“Yes,” Dr. Harper nodded. “These are the same students who consistently submit designs with missing components, forget to carry units in their calculations, and once even tried to build a drone that wouldn't stop spinning in circles. There’s no chance this plane is getting off the ground.”
He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms comfortably across his chest. “But I also know that if, by some miracle, this plane does take off—well, I’d want to be here to see it. Because that would mean they learned far more than I ever expected.”
The staff member stared at him, half in awe and half in confusion. Outside, the other professors watched too, their expressions shifting from disbelief to reluctant admiration.
Dr. Harper gave a little wave through the window at his colleagues on the tarmac, as if to say, "Trust your students, even if it means knowing their limits." Then, with a smile, he looked forward, ready for whatever might come next—whether it was the rumble of engines fading to silence, or a brief, miraculous lift into the sky.
The engines roared, the plane shuddered—and then stopped. As expected, the plane remained grounded.
Dr. Harper unbuckled his seatbelt with a chuckle, stepping out to join his colleagues. He patted one of them on the back as he descended the steps. "See? They still have a bit to learn. But one day, they'll get there. And when they do, I’ll be ready to fly."
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