Figments of paper

It was a gentle wisp of a cool breeze on a wet morning, and riding along it was a tiny little bit of paper-insignificant; as insignificant as my presence in the class. A white paper turned pale with age, dirt accumulating along its cracks.
It wafted across my face into the corridor. There it was edging forward, undecided. Then the gentle wind lifted it, delicately as a mother would caress her baby. For a few seconds it danced merrily , a slow rhythmic dance. Reluctantly it came back, settling on the window border beside me. I tore a scrap from the corner of my notebook and gently blew it through my palm.
Now the lonely bit of paper had a friend. Elated. Now they were like two sparrows, skipping and jumping with little gusts of wind. And now they were like two children playing the merry-go-round, dancing in tiny circles.
"Twenty four........ (louder) twenty four!" the prof called out. "Present sir." Then I walked out of the class.