...Between Fantasy And Reality

I

Ball Pen

   The last time I met you I'm pretty sure I was sadder than a whining baby deprived of  its mother's presence. But then again, that's how I usually am most of the time. I was quite intent on improving my demeanor for the next time we were to meet - but that didn't happen, so I might as well save all the amendments  for later. But you know me a lot more than most people do - and I'm certainly sure you know me well enough to say that I remember the most insignificant of things in the most excruciating of details.
   I remember how you looked in the ninth grade. You had the air of innocence around you, and that was one of the reasons why I actually liked looking at you. It had nothing to do with how you really looked, how high your hair were raised, or what clothes you were wearing; for me, it was more about the indiscernible aura you possessed. I liked you even more for being inconspicuous, for  not looking to get attention; and that's precisely why I gave you almost all of mine: I have a tendency to pay attention to those who hardly ever want it.
   This one time in ninth grade - when I used to take only maths classes and you attended both maths and science - there was some upset with the class timings and in place of the maths class the students were asked to give a science test, including the only-maths ones. When I and a bunch of other only-maths students relentlessly protested to the invigilator that we wanted nothing to do with the science test, she eventually agreed to shift us out of the room. Then, it was me and another 3 students squeezed on a single wood-bench - which was placed directly next to the door of our classroom - studying with a science teacher who we weren't quite acquainted with. I wasn't paying attention to whatever it was that was being taught, I just remember that the girl who sat next to me had half-gold half-black nail paint on her nails which freaked me out like anything. And then I remember you coming out of class to drink water.
   Back then, the water cooler used to be just outside our classroom behind the table where the extra classes were being taken, before it was shifted upstairs to a better and a more uncluttered location. I caught a glimpse of you as you stepped out of class - I had to; how could I not? - and headed over to the water point. I watched, as you turned the tap and water flowed out from the adjoining vessel into your glass. I had to turn back at an angle that almost contorted my face, but I'd gladly say it was worth it.
   I sat transfixed as you downed your glass of water in one-shot, straight. There was something in your face that had struck me; and it had struck me so much, for all of the twenty five seconds that you stood there, I couldn't look anywhere else. You wore glasses then. They made you look cuter; and although I have come to change that opinion with time, I can certainly say they don't make you look any less cute, if they don't make you any more prettier.
   I have been so callous as to forget when it was that I'd first started to notice you around me, but if anything comes close, it'd be that very incident. I also thought then, for some inane reason, that you were looking at me the whole time you were standing there. I know it's silly, but there's not much I can do about it; it's how I felt. Or how I wanted to feel, about what I wanted to be true. I don't really think that happened though; and I don't have enough plausible reasons to convince myself otherwise.
   You were one of out maths sir's favorite students - or one that he saw potential in - and he  always asked you questions during class. That's how I got to know your name in the first place, and you also answered most of his questions correctly. That very day that I got to know your name, I remember  you were wearing something pink. But now that I come to think about it, that was odd, because from what I'd gathered, I'd always thought you had a certain disliking for pink. There was this friend you always you used to sit with - a certain female. I believe it was she who'd first gotten my attention, but over time it diverted to someone else; someone who wasn't quite as demanding in terms of attention. Someone I'd hopelessly gotten infatuated with, only a blink of an eye later.
There is a lot more that I remember, and right now, I'll share everything; because these memories have been barred for long enough. And that's not how I treat my memories.
   There was an extra class we both attended together, in the basement of our tuition center in a room that was barely large enough to fit thirty people. I remember why you were taking that extra class - you'd scored really low in the  preceding quadrilaterals test - while I don't remember while I attended it myself. I also don't remember why it was that I'd taken the back seat during that class (which I usually never did). Whatever be the reason, it sure did work out to my benefit: you were sitting right in front of me, two rows ahead. It was the winter season then - probably around October but I'm not so sure - and you wore your school uniform, as always, and you'd also worn that red sweater that still is a part of it. I loved that sweater; I still do. There was something about it that brought out your inner innocence and reflected it in your attire; and when coupled with the glasses, I thought you looked beautiful. I don't know what beauty means to most people - but that's what it meant to me, back then: you in your winter school-uniform and the sweater, gracefully adorned with spectacles. With your hair open.
   Your school uniform also reminds me of something else.
   While our second-term final paper for maths was underway, I remember you sitting somewhere behind me. And I also remember you continuously talking to the person next to you. It was right then that for the very first time I'd actually wondered about what I wanted with you. Something like that would be so great. Easy, friendly conversations. Something like that would be so... simple. But the invigilator threw you out of the class, and asked you to go sit in another class. I don't remember whether your friend was asked to accompany you there - I guess he wasn't - but I'm not so sure; it's only a few moments that I remember, not entire days.
   I attempted the paper almost mindlessly - not because of you, but because that's how I was back then - and I still ended up with a good score. I think it was 65 on 80, and I think that is how much you scored, give or take a few marks. It surprised me when you came to submit your paper back in the room that you were asked to leave. I remember you standing by the door, with one of your hands stretched out to give your answer sheet to the invigilator. She came and took it from you, and then you left; not without making an imprint on my mind - I was absolutely, and irrationally in love with the way you looked. That led me to write a poem too, and if you rack your brains hard enough (which I don't really think you'll need to) you'll know which one it is.
   Another memory that I haven't shared with everybody is that of the last Circles extra class we had. I think it was held after the second-term paper was over, but I'm not quite sure, as always. Before that class, I remember I only partly understood everything that was being taught, while you were nodding your head to whatever the teacher was saying. But during that class I couldn't see you as clearly as I could before - you were sitting very close to me, right next to the person who sat next to me. In all foolishness I'd forgotten to bring a pen to class, so I asked the guy next to me for one. He didn't have an extra one, but he seemed to know you, so he asked you. And youdid have an extra pen. It was a ball pen, the one that you'd given me; it didn't have a cap, and it's grip was dotted with circles so as to make writing more comfortable. If I could, I'd keep it for the rest of my life. But as the end of the class approached, I chose not to, much against my will; and thought up ways to return to you the pen that you'd given me.
   If I were to tell you how excitedly nervous I'd gotten at the mere thought of approaching you, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't believe me. But that's how I am, I guess - unbelievable. And it was with much courage that I'd approached you with what was yours, as I felt my heart pounding violently inside me. I held it out to you - your pen - and as you accepted it with a gracious smile, I thanked you.
   And that was the very first time you'd led me blur the lines between fantasy and reality. 
   And I'll always love you for that.

X-x-X