Writers Jam

I met her a long time ago, “What class are you in?” I shyly asked the ponytail girl who I had sat across from in the school auditorium, she had a deep voice, it wasn’t exactly melodious, “K section, I am from humanities.” My social anxieties did not permit further conversation.

 “Bro all the new girls in the humanities sections bro!” my friend exclaimed in all pent-up excitement. “so cute bro so cute!” I sighed, I was a whopping blob of fat, fat cheeks, fat belly, fat arms, fat legs, fat chance of having any romance both-sided.

I won’t take her name since she is just a person, to actually relate to the story, one can then more easily put themselves in my or her shoes, if we stay concepts, unhumanized concepts.

I asked her what her favorite anime character was on Diwali 2019, “Goku!!” she replied in chat, spent 4 hours making a Goku rangoli, tagging her on my Instagram story with it, hesitating before doing so, afraid of the perception she might form of me, she posted it back, saying she liked it.

Talks with her became quite frequent after that, I liked her, she was nice. She slowly started to talk to my friends too, becoming her friend pretty soon, becoming more than friends with my friend pretty soon too, I felt something pricking me from inside, I smiled the widest I could. “Damn am I happy for you two!” For some reason I felt as if a dam broke inside me as I reached home, I quickly climbed into the washroom, setting camp for two hours, crying myself out. I still don’t get why I cried; she was just a friend. I was just her ugly-looking, fat, friend. I was just her friend. I was to probably stay her friend.

2020 started, slowly creeping up, the months flying past, leaving behind the drudging monotony.  It had been months since I had talked to her. Quarantine had forced all of us indoors, and the indoors had forced the feelings out of us, for a healthy vent I started to write again, not focussing on romance anymore, when a romantic never dies, the romance dies from a person, it is a sad sight, for a person to lose the sense of adventure, to grow afraid of love. I had started to write horror and posted it regularly on my blog.

I started to exercise, thinking it might just do me good, I was over her and happy, I was doing good for myself. Then one day a notification popped up, “have you seen your name?”, “no” I retorted, not paying much mind. “You should, nvm, How’s you?” I couldn’t help smiling, she had not changed, still using the cute wrong grammar.

Chats with her grew quite frequent again, the seasons were changing, from the torrid summers, we were heading toward spring. It was raining heavily one day. “Its raining.” “yes” I replied. “You know what my biography would be called?”

 “what?”

“dancing barefoot”

“like a peacock in the rain?” a romantic reply I thought, surprising myself.

She didn’t reply for a few seconds, I gulped, did I overstep? Did I do something wrong?

“cos ima dancer! How cliché u r xD” she replied, I sighed.

The rain grew heavier, sitting in the veranda, feeling the breeze and hearing the rain, I was warm.

We would talk for hours, every night, she would tell me about her classic dancing studio, how her instructor was her bestest friend, about some promiscuous friend of hers, about anything, I loved talking to her. I would tell my sister about her, she never judged me, she would always smile and tell me that she seemed wonderful. “she is” I would reply, gauche and gaunt.

She told me once about a fight she had with my friend, apparently the distances of the lockdown were rusting the shackles of the relationship that they had. I was taken aback. Maybe I was overstepping, I thought. she was my friend’s girlfriend, what kind of a morally incorrigible and corrupt person was I who thought I was doing the right thing?

 “I need your help.” She continued, “he doesn’t even want me to go meet my friends, says that he will break up with me.” “its alright, I’m here, nothing bad will happen.” I replied without giving a second’s thought.

I would exercise while thinking about her, I wanted to be a better me for her. She was my friend’s but I still thought of her. I would ask her opinions on everything. We had a connection. I would imagine her and it would motivate me to run the extra mile. To say no to the extra piece of toast. She would tell me about her family, she would tell me how she was a child of divorce and so never had any proper relationship with her mother, how her father had even sold their house to pay for his brother’s cancer treatment. Her vulnerability showed me how similar we were. She was like me. Maybe we all are just similar, we judge and place each other on such high or low pedestals that we become different, everybody hides their gloomy demons. Maybe the biggest intimacy is to just see each other at your most vulnerable, completely exposed.

She shared her playlist with me one day, “feel good, I share it with very less people u k.” she typed. “now share yours.” She demanded, I could not, because I had never made one. I quickly put together all the songs she liked, and all of the ones that we had in common. “this is so amazzz xD”, she replied almost immediately. My heart jumped. “what’re you naming it?”, she questioned. I had the perfect name ready already. “DUDE!!” she reacted. I think I still have the playlist. Its available on Spotify, “songs to dance barefoot to”. Maybe it is the little things that cause joy.

October was fast approaching, my friend and she had finally decided to part ways, I could not contain my joy, my sister told me to confess. I could not. I had the feelings, I just had to put them somewhere. Somewhere. Romance never dies, it just burrows itself deep, adventure, romance and love are what humans live for, as Robin Williams says in Dead Poet’s Society, the familiar feelings that I had buried long ago were now rushing through me, I could feel a dam break once more. A stronger dam, the flow was ethereal. I picked up a stone and wrote at the very corner of the wall, in small letters,

“Come October”.

Come October, we will sit beneath the skies,
Your black hair flowing in my lap,
Our fingers playfully entwined,
Your red lips lighting up with the only ray of light,
Making it forever last, that one starry night.

_Come October, I will sing to you my heart’s song,
I will hold you as your breath falters,
I will run my fingers through your hair,
I will caress your lustrous lips with mine,
I will give you a reason to smile,

For I will love you, and make you forever mine,_

Come October, I’ll guide you to the magical sky,
Where love would spring eternal and dreams never die,
And like birds, in the stars we’ll fly,
And in the stars, I’ll hold your heart and you’ll hold mine,
And in that one starry night you’ll see,
We were meant to be together, you and me,

Give me that one kiss, and look into my eyes,
My heart sings truth, in this orchestra of lies.

Come October, and I’ll make you see,
The October sky is a canvas, for you and me,
Let’s hold each other, this moment shall never fade,

Join me, do my soul this favour,

come with me, let’s make this October last forever
This month of love is a never-ending sea, a monsoon spring where hope never dies,
Let me love you, make you forever mine

“Do you like me Raghav?”, she asked me when I shared the poem with her, telling her it was for my crush.

“I love you; I have loved you since I saw you in the auditorium. I loved you when I saw you with my friend. I loved you when you told me you liked peanut butter better than Biskoff, I loved you when you stopped talking to me over the smallest issues, I love you when you dance, I love you when you laugh, I love you when you smile, I love you when you cry, I love you. Don’t make me lose touch with romance again. It is the cheesiest thing but I do love you.” I thought.

“why would you ask me that?” I gulped and asked.

“no reason.”

And just like that, in a blink of an eye, October left us behind.

I did not talk to her after that, for many months, she would share reels and videos of her dance with me, and I would share back, but we both knew it and neither of said anything, for the first time in my life, I could actually relate to the quote of silence speaking volumes.

I recently participated in a story writing contest; the prompt was that little things lead to the most unadulterated form of joy. I asked her, if I could write a story about her. “DUDE! Obviously!”, she was immediately her normal self once more. “can I read it tho?” she asked me.

I hesitated. 

“sure.” I replied.