Whether Donna was the prettiest woman in our college nobody cared. She was certainly the most eye-catching. With her lithe body, long tresses and those incredible, sparkling eyes, she cut a broad swath through all the male hearts.

If she went to a party, we tripped over each other to get there; if she joined a seminar, we left everything to sign up, for the merest chance of a few minutes with her. So I felt lucky when a professor asked me to serve on a student council, and, at the first meeting, I found myself sitting next to Donna, named by another professor. She amazed us all. She was ingenious and came up with more ideas than we could deal with.

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She was indefatigable too, ready for hours of free work to put those ideas to work. It took me longer to realize that her real strength was how she dealt with all the people she attracted so effortlessly.

She was not just pleasant and considerate; she paid meticulous heed to others and always found time to listen to them and be helpful. I enjoyed working with her, and for many years after college, kept in touch with her even as I worked overseas. She went to medical school, worked in a hospital as a pediatrician, married, became a widow hardly three years later, and, her last letter said, she was taking an assignment in Burkina Faso.

I made a few quick switches in my assignments abroad, and my letters to Donna were returned. We lost touch. An old college friend told me that she had become well known in her field and traveled to poor countries for experimental work on children’s diseases. She had, he said, created a foundation for the purpose and put her life’s saving in it. Thirty years later, I was on a short visit to Dominican Republic, and went to visit a friend in the local hospital.

I might have passed the nurses’ station if I had not heard a familiar mellifluous voice that had once meant a lot to me. I turned to look at the doctor: a silver haired woman in a white coat, the stethoscope round her neck and a file in her hand, and a set of memorable sparkling eyes. I held her hand as I looked at them, now radiant with recognition and joy. She was, as ever, truly a beauty.

(The writer is a Washington-based international development advisor and had worked with the World Bank. He can be reached atmnandy@gmail.com)