How I met her
I have been thinking a lot lately about sharing my story… My real story.
Story of how I came across her (I always refer to her as Her or She in my head)
The story I’ve never shared with even the closest people to me; not as it is anyway. In bits and pieces, maybe. Never to its entirety.
So here it goes:
Before beginning the tale, I want you to understand the circumstances in which I met her, for only then you could do justice to it.
Ever since I hit puberty, I’ve always wanted to fall madly and unconditionally in love with someone (a girl, to be specific)
And it had nothing to do with sex, for I had, by that time, discovered an unconventional use for my right hand, if you know what I mean.
Anyways, by the time I finished high school, I had my heart broken thrice.
Each one was progressively worse. Basic, intermediate and advanced —all levels of heartbreak had been qualified. I was ready for a bigger hit.
Therefore, when a friend of mine brought up the subject of switching schools I immediately thought to myself, this is It, enough is enough! No one is going to break my heart again… In this school.
So, in the hope of a fresh start, I enrolled in a new school. Lucknow Public School And College, it was called. Situated in an urban area of the town, the school had the bitchiest, meanest students I’d ever seen, and the teachers were even worse—some more than others.
On my first day at this school, I realize three things about myself:
- I was not good at studies (I suspected this even before coming here)
- I was an introvert,
- And I was not funny.
Mingled with the heartbreaks, these acknowledgements worked as a catalyst in shaping me into an angry young man. After attending two weeks of perpetually disappointing classes, I decided that I needed a break.
So, one day, while heading for school half-heartedly, an evil thought made me stop mid-way when school was only meters away, what if I don’t go to school. It was a comforting thought, but not convincing enough, so the thought became more evil, more alluring, and… go to a movie instead?. The idea was intoxicating, and I immediately fell into its trap. The world around me faded into a blur, and a mesmerising image of a movie theatre came into my vision.
The unholy thought almost had its way, when my conscience weighed in, ‘this is wrong, that’s a bad kid’s doing!’ (I don’t know, why my conscience sounds like a nursery schoolteacher)
And after thirty minutes of commute, I found myself inside a movie theatre. Yeah, I chose to become a bad kid. Now, you all bad kids out there, give me some cheers!
On the way back home that day, I felt like Tris from the Divergent series: I wasn’t supposed to be divergent, yet I was one or chose to be one. The thrill it’d given me was addictive, to say the least. Now I had a way to escape the tedious classes where only the best students were appreciated.
School bunking not only reduced my stress level temporarily but also gave me a way to pursue my ultimate goal — to find someone to fall in love with. This pursuit is often confused with Ladkibaazi or Laundiyabaazi (skirt-chasing), a term I never associated my pursuit with. It was sacred to me. Although I had become a bad kid, I was a good-bad kid, if ever there was such a thing.
Now, when I look back, I can tell you only one thing about myself: I was a good, decent (excluding the right-hand thing, of course) teenager, looking for someone to shower his love upon (no pun intended).
Time went by and I continued my endeavour (without any success) until the growing number of my absences was at its peak — more than two months. Mid-term came and went without me showing up at school.
At this juncture of my enterprise, I was guilt-ridden with a nagging voice in my head as a constant companion. On top of that, my anxiety had started to creep in. Now, when I think about that time it only brings up unpleasant memories of my stupidity, ignorance and impulsiveness.
When the burden of the wrongdoings I had committed became unbearable I chose to confess them to my parents and asked whether I could drop that year (oh, the Audacity of me!). After much castigation of my actions followed by a lengthy lesson on morals, they agreed (After all, I’m their only son).
So, my second time in the first year of my intermediate education began. So far, I had learnt these things:
If I wanted to survive this time, I’d had-
To make friends
To move on
To let love find me instead of looking for it.
And that’s exactly what I did on my first day — I made friends. Good friends. Friends, who are still with me to this today- Shubham and Mayank. There was also a boy whom I considered my frenemy. Vishal. He was one of those bully kids who won’t exactly push your face down the toilet, but who will make sure that I knew he was capable of it. His nickname for me was Kachumbari Kekda; I don’t know what that means or whether it means anything. All I know, it had something to do with the manner I walked.
Apart from him being the bane of my existence, things were looking up. My life was finally on track. Or so I thought.
It was a normal day. I was sitting with one of my friends in the back seat, chatting, when I found her looking at me. It was suspiciously lengthy eye contact to be called just looking. For few microseconds, I thought to my self okay, she is looking at me. After few more microsenconds, I was like now she is staring at me. Finally, right before the climax of our staring contest, I realised oh, she is checking me out. Just as I had started relishing the companionship of our pupils, she broke it. And I was like please don’t do that , I want more of it. It felt as if I had gotten drunk for few seconds without actually drinking alcohol. She had been in the class for months, but this day I looked her in a new light. And I liked it. She was no longer the pretty, fair, and chubby girl with glasses in the front seat. She became the girl with whom I had shared a whimsically peculiar feeling a moment before.
This is how I met her. If you wish to know more about my story don’t hasitate to mention it in the comment section.
