The first time

I am not sure whether you remember me from our school days or at least whether you’re aware of the fact that we were in the same school and, in fact, we used the same school bus because our hostels were pretty close. I used to sit just two seats behind as I never dared to look into your eyes and because you were with this girl always like a shadow who only leaves you when it is dark. Nevertheless, be sure that I always noticed you. 

The first time I saw you when one of my friends pointed you out to me and you were forever imprinted in my memory for I have never seen a girl so beautiful like you. It was a fairy-tale come alive. Believe me, when I say you could not have been more perfect at that instant. You had slighted parted lips with a hint of a smile which could make anyone crazy or, at least, it made me go crazy. But it was your eyes which stole my imagination. You’d the prettiest eyes, prettier than I could imagine and even prettier than I can imagine now. They say eyes are windows to a soul. For me, it was a sea I could drown. They were the perfect blend of modesty, innocence and curiosity and little kajal to accentuate the effect. I closed my eyes and clicked a mental picture of you. My attempt to freeze the time took a hard pounding when the bus stopped in front of the school and the little jerk wake me up from a dream which I never wanted to get up from. 

I had a pretty busy schedule that day but that did not deter me from smiling stupidly throughout the day to the annoyance of my friends and teachers. One of the teachers, you might know him as he was the vice principle, was particularly unhappy about my attitude, but I could not help but picture you smiling. If I were a bit more confident that day, I would have gone to you and asked your name but I was too afraid and talking to a girl was something I had avoided all my life, that too for a very good reason. 

On our way back, I had to sit a bit too far and my friend kept telling about a boring mathematical puzzle he was solving. How could a person concentrate on a puzzle when his entire life had just become a puzzle? From where I was sitting, I could only see a corner of your face and lots of your hair. It was still better than my entire day at the school. I could picture a small freckle of your hair playing graciously with the soft breeze and you frantically trying to make them, well, stop for that would entangle your hair. My little trip to imagination had to end when the bus halted at the Liverpool-stop and I had to leave the bus.