Was that love?


I was meeting him after four years. After his persistent requests and endless calls, I decided to give in and meet him.  Of course, there was an excuse of visiting library as he was also fond of books like me. I knew he liked me from the day we met and it was just me who resisted him all the time. But why I am meeting him today? Why after so many years, I answered positively to his calls? Have I gone mad? Should I just call him  and cancel our meeting? I slapped myself for thinking too much and brushed aside all these stupid, irrelevant questions.

Dressed in Brown high-neck and blue jeans I gave myself another of my quintessential ‘I am the best’  look and left my home. Waiting for the bus was another headache, but as it was winter I enjoyed basking in the sun.  So many people standing on the Bus stop beside me unknowingly were giving me a kind of moral courage. The past memories of all the four years started passing like a slide show in front of my eyes. Our first meeting in FIITJEE and my regular ignorant attitude towards him in the classes, our next coincidental meeting in DCE and its counselling sessions. Everything now just looked tailor-made.

The creaking sound of the bus brought me back from my strange unconscious memories. The bus was 610 and my chariot for the next 15 minutes. I got inside the bus and sat next to the window.  Our brain is master of all and it never allow us to remain silent. My verbose brain kept on showing me all his possible look-alike images as I haven’t seen him from quite a long time.  With a halt, bus stopped at my destined stop and brought me back into reality. My eyes were still searching for that weird-looking bespectacled geek, whom I last met properly in FIITJEE.

My search ended on a nerd wearing a gray coloured sweat shirt. I felt a sudden jitter passing from my body. A strange feeling crept in and made me blush like a stupid teenager. It wasn’t the same anymore. Questions started pouring in my mind about my explicit weird behavior and filled my gray matter. I was trying my best to control my senses and be my normal self but everything was going out of hand.  At last, I said “hi” to him. My verbose brain again started pushing me to ask him about his studies and all the relevant questions with it, to start  a proper conversation.  I gave a tight slap to my brain and reminded it that we are still standing at the bus stop.

He replied me with an infectious smile and a simple “hello” and asked me to move towards his home. He had shed his hippopotamus weight and was looking quite good and thank god! his dressing sense has also improved. We started moving and talked about our general boring studies. While climbing stairs of his house, my heart was competing with Usain Bolt in beating. I wondered, did I really come for the library and books? I snubbed myself and said  “My darling narcissist, you have come to meet him and show him how beautiful you look and not for the sheer love of books and library!”.

His room was on the top floor  and opened on terrace. I entered his room, which was filled with my favourite cologne. I cursed him for turning me on with the enduring smell of cologne. I sat on his bed and he, on a chair and started chatting. We talked endlessly and forgot even to visit the library. I wondered and asked myself,  “Is this love?”

Advertisements

7 thoughts on “Was that love?

  1. True Love takes a life time to prove…
    Attraction… yes…
    A Little turned on… maybe yes…
    Infatuation… Definitely yes…
    Love… Definitely Maybe…
    True Love… Who can tell? Only Time…

    🙂

  2. Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. It can’t be. Don’t break my heart. What was the cologne he was wearing..Axe? Was it like in those commercials?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s