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"Rhythm of the Universe" succeeds in blending narrative, symbolism, and thematic unity to illustrate that art and science are not opposing forces but interconnected expressions of human curiosity. By using rhythm as both plot device and conceptual metaphor, the text enacts the very synthesis it describes: it is structurally precise like a well-composed score yet flexible like an improvised solo. The imagined appearance of Feynman crystallizes this vision, leaving both Jake and the reader with the sense that the universe itself moves to a pattern that invites interpretation in both numbers and notes.

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Rhythm of the Universe 

By Harry Arabian

Mondays were always the hardest for Jake, a 22-year-old physics major who was trying to keep up with the relentless pace of his final semester. At 10 a.m., he faced a grueling 90-minute Differential Equations lecture—a required course that felt more like a mental marathon than an academic challenge. By 1 p.m., he faced another 90-minute Quantum Physics class—a subject that promised to unravel the mysteries of the universe but often left him feeling adrift, searching for the underlying beat in its abstract theories.

The schedule barely allowed him time to catch his breath between classes, let alone to enjoy a proper meal after the whirlwind of his weekends. Jake reserved his Fridays and Saturdays for his true passion: music. Alongside his bandmates from the Swamp Rock Band, he performed at local halls, playing bongos and drums for crowds of enthusiastic middle- and high-school students who responded instinctively to the band’s gritty, soulful rhythm.

That Monday in early May was no different. The weekend had been a blur of sound and movement—two performances, one at Sons of Italy Hall on Pleasant Street, the other at VA Hall on Newton Street. Jake’s arms still ached from the relentless drumming, the vibrations of the drumskins lingering in his muscles like a stubborn echo that refused to fade.

As the Differential Equations lecture dragged on, the numerical methods, stability discussions, and error analyses blurred into an indecipherable haze. The professor’s marker tapped the board in a steady, almost metronomic rhythm, pulling Jake toward sleep. Before he knew it, he had slipped into a brief, unwelcome nap—his mind drifting away from the rigid tempo of equations toward a freer, more fluid beat.

A sudden burst of drums jolted him awake. The sharp rhythm reverberated through the lecture hall, replacing the monotone drone of mathematics with something unexpected. His eyes snapped open to find a female teacher at the podium, demonstrating jazz instruments—bongos, cymbals, and a shiny brass trumpet gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

Blinking, Jake glanced at his watch. It was 1:30 p.m.—he had missed the start of Quantum Physics. A sinking feeling hit him. The strict attendance policy was clear: no late arrivals were allowed.

Yet the music was irresistible. The classroom was no longer filled with abstract equations and cold theory; it pulsed with rhythm and melody. Still half-dazed, Jake decided to stay. If he could not be in Quantum Physics, he could at least lose himself in this unexpected composition, where history and harmony kept time together.

The lecture unfolded like a carefully orchestrated score. From the bold experiments of 20th-century modernism to the structured chaos of serialism, the subtle repetition of minimalism, and the soulful improvisations of jazz, each style added its own measure to the larger piece of music’s evolution. Popular and electronic genres joined in, carrying the melody into the present day.

The professor guided the class through music’s essential elements: melody, harmony, rhythm, texture, form, timbre, and dynamics. Each had its place, much like the variables in an equation, combining in endless variations to produce something greater than the sum of its parts.

Jake found himself absorbed in the lesson. The scientific precision of his physics courses gave way to an appreciation for art’s capacity to bend and reshape time itself. For the first time that day, his tired arms relaxed, his thoughts keeping time with rhythms instead of formulas.

When the lecture ended, Jake sat back, oddly refreshed despite the day’s chaos. As he gathered his things, a sudden, vivid image struck him—the unmistakable presence of Richard Feynman, the legendary physicist and creator of Quantum Electrodynamics, sitting beside him, effortlessly weaving complex beats on the bongos and drums.

It was as if Feynman himself had come to remind him that science and creativity were not separate movements, but parts of the same composition. The beat of the drums, the flow of equations, the pulse of the universe—all played in harmony, waiting for those willing to listen closely enough to hear the rhythm beneath it all.