"Slow down, boy," a passerby shouted mockingly. He was passionately showing off his Karizma ZMR, a rare scenario in my town. With what seemed like the velocity of light, my heart pounded. Reluctantly my neck swerved and I was glaring at her bungalow. My bike was slowing down and so was time. She was there in the balcony, chuckling as she talked on the phone. For a moment, I was quaking with my worst nightmare, but then I thought who I am to care anyway. The two hundred metres between us were enough to hide my tears. It all started in 6th grade, so I always reckoned she was nothing but a crush, a result of my incessant movie-addiction. While watching RHTDM, I would be engrossed in making out a story of my life. It was when I was debating over what her voice would be like, when I was interrupted. "Excuse me, Where should I sit? This is my first day of this school." "Lata Mangeshkar", I muttered. Her voice was the same as Lata Mangeshkar's. Her eyesbrows raised. "There," I gestured to the last row. "Thank you." She said. From the corner of my eyes, I watched her. Pink top and jeans, hair in a pony-tail and a peculiar glint in her eyes. "Which school?" I asked, fighting my urge to adore her as she sipped water. "Adarsh..." Before she could utter more, a great hullaballoo had already befallen. "Oh Arya, welcome to the school! Aww this dress!" "Not of a great deal for the Joshis," the new admission said. Her last word concise. 'TUNE MERE JANA, KABHI NAHI JANA' my phone ringed and I woke up from my naustalgic reverie. It was Akshara, my girlfriend. "Hey baby? What's up? Where're you? You weren't at the Batch Seperation Test. Afraid of IIT, eh?" "I am home. Wasn't feelin' well." "Otay otay, come soon. Missing you. They're starting alcohol today." "I'll be there tomorrow" Akshara was the sixth girl in my life. Hexane, as I called her. Nevertheless, the reaction with Methane was the most perplexing one. Since five years we'd not spoken a word. None of the students of opposite sex talked in the class. Narrow mentality, I tell you. Inspite of my relationships, Arya flashed my mind everyday. I had maintained a diary that comprised of 150 poems on her. These poems were the 150 encounters I'd with her that caused me equal number of mini Heart-Attacks. I stood there on the highway, my eyes glaring at her. No, she won't recognize you Aryan. Not until you dwindle the distance that departed you since five years. She won't notice you unless you cease being shy and show her you love her. Before I could know, my bike had paced half the distance. Maybe it wanted to prove that it was superior to my bicycle, which would have been too fragile to start. No, she won't have a boyfriend, I convinced myself as her chuckling intensified. Her chirping had paused. Our eyes met. I watched her and watched her, and she stared back, flabbergasted. A guy so reckless in my town is a guy who will get his face red soon. Two minutes later, she ran inside. Alright Arya, it was a cue for me to leave, I thought.
For Reference, You May Like To Read
The Secret Lover Poem
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