In the middle of a class, she would turn back to look at me with the assurance that I was waiting for her to turn around, and my eyes, fixed on her steady face, would follow her gaze. That ticklish sensation...
This is a small story from a part of my life when I began to feel something I couldn't even define at the time. It was September 1, 2008, the day we saw each other for the first time. During the class, she turned back to look at me with the confidence that I was waiting for her glance, and my eyes turned toward her with a sense of anticipation. That ticklish, sweet feeling that perhaps not everyone experiences at that age. What was this gentle, sweet sensation? Why, despite being surrounded by others, did we feel no fear in reliving it again and again? Hidden from the eyes of others, we kept having silent conversations through our glances.
A few days later, it was her birthday. In her white and red frock, she stood out in the class, a figure perhaps at the center of everyone's attention, but her gaze stopped at me as if to ask, "How do I look?" During the half-day at school, our exchange of glances took a new turn, and for the first time, we stood face to face, laughing and chatting freely.
Even one of her friends enjoyed it a lot and remarked how much fun she was having. Two people of completely opposite natures stood talking to each other while some boys and girls in the class looked on with surprise, wondering why these two were talking so much. But why would we care? We were lost in each other, carefree and absorbed in our own little world.
With butterflies in my stomach, time kept passing, bringing with it small, beautiful moments—sometimes borrowing her notebook, sometimes sneaking her home number from her diary. Sometimes I would arrive early just to wait for her, and sometimes, while heading home, I’d go to great lengths just to catch one last glimpse of her. Sometimes, I’d pass by her side, and other times, I’d wander around the school playground with my friends, deliberately crossing her path again and again, hoping our eyes would meet even once.
Year passed. A new year, a new class, new studies—but the feelings remained the same. It was a story that was meant to begin again right where we had left it. She thought I might forget her, but I kept waiting for that moment when she would appear before me.
Once again, her birthday arrived. She probably got to school early that day. I was on the stairs when one of my friends shouted from below, “Hey, Samiksha has left her hair open today!” The pride of a seventh-grade boy made me easily ignore his comment outwardly, but the person within me was consumed with just one thought: when would I get to see her face-to-face and let her beauty cool my eyes? And then, there she was, right in front of me—her hair open, wearing a black and purple top, black leggings, and white shoes. The wheel of time kept turning, and conversations that once happened through mere glances had now found their medium in words. Fights, arguments, love, sulking, making up—then sulking and making up again—harsh words, a little forgiveness, some agreements, many disagreements, all became a part of life. Today, everything has ended. That person left, abandoning me at a crossroads where there are more questions than paths. Perhaps she is also going through the same phase. Whenever I think about this journey, I realize how much two people witnessed in their lives—a journey from mental and physical transformations to moving from a small town to a big city. From the pain of failures to the healing balm of success. From the final breath of one life to the welcoming first breath of another. A long time was spent together. Today, she is no longer with me. Perhaps I did something wrong or I took too long to understand her. Yet even now, when she comes to mind, I often feel the presence of a shadowy figure or an invisible personality lingering over me. She is still there, even after leaving me, someone who sits within my heart and makes me distinguish between right and wrong. Someone who, even now, if she lovingly called my name once, could bring tears to my eyes. But she is nowhere to be seen. I don’t know what mistake I made that upset her so deeply that she never looked back. If I ever meet her and gather the courage, I will ask her why these 16 years remain incomplete. Until then, goodbye
