It was 2007, and I had just turned 15. As high school drew to a close, I found myself navigating the tumultuous waters of puberty. Until then, my life had been comfortably centered around books, cricket, and movies. But suddenly, I began to experience an unexplainable, unfamiliar sensation that left me perplexed.
Whenever I caught a glimpse of a beautiful girl walking by, a rush of emotions would course through my body. It was as if my hormones were playing a wild game of catch-up. In India, where sex education was largely taboo during my formative years, discussing such matters was strictly off-limits. Even casual conversations with girls were scrutinized under a microscope, which only seemed to fuel our curiosity.Ironically, I was the go-to person for academic doubts among my peers, both boys and girls alike. This meant I was comfortable around girls, despite hailing from a conservative background. My parents, however, were surprisingly liberal in their approach to most things. They never imposed unnecessary restrictions on me, which allowed me to develop a relatively open-minded outlook.
In 2007, young love bloomed in school like never before. Couples emerged, cherishing every moment together, both in and out of class. It was a surprising sight for me. The same kids who used to trade Pokémon cards or debate Sachin Tendulkar’s batting skills were now concerned about how to impress their crushes. Teenage romance filled the air. Kids showed off on motorcycles to impress girls, or signed up for dance events just to be close to their crushes. And gossip was everywhere. It took me some time to get used to this new world, but soon I found myself drawn to its excitement. Yet, despite being surrounded by budding romances, I didn’t feel attracted to anyone—until one special day.
A close friend of mine couldn’t stop talking about a girl from a nearby school. His descriptions of her and his feelings for her spread through our school like wildfire. All we knew was that she was the headmaster’s daughter from the neighboring school and had appeared on a reality TV show, which had made her quite popular. We heard stories of my friend’s attempts to talk to her and how she responded. There’s something captivating about hearing other’s romantic pursuits. Following the friend code, I kept my distance, but the heart doesn’t always follow the rules. One day, I stumbled upon the TV show they talked about, and there she was on the screen. I was struck by her beauty, remembering every detail vividly even after two decades. Her eyes were captivating, her long black hair stunning, and she was draped in a mesmerizing shade of blue. Her voice was soft, a rarity where I come from, where people usually express themselves loudly. I watched her speak, but my mind was too entranced by her presence to grasp a single word she said. Those few minutes on TV may have been ordinary entertainment for many, but for me, they marked the start of my journey into a hopeless romantic.
I found myself ensnared by Cupid’s arrow, a secret love brewing within me. Yet, I treaded cautiously, veiling my emotions to avoid stirring any unwanted turbulence among my friends. Back then, I didn’t realize how unrealistic and foolish my daydreams were.
Her house is on the way between our school and the private tuition of our math teacher which I used to attend. For the next six months, The highlight of my day became this fleeting moments of cycling past her house. With Rahman’s melodies entertaining my ears through my Walkman, I indulged in amateurish stunts with my half broken bike, hoping to catch a glimpse and possibly a span of attention from her. I rode back and forth, yearning for her presence at the balcony of her house. As I get closer to the house, my heart filled with anticipation of her presence but the reality sinks in - she’s not there. Yet I remained hopeful, knowing tomorrows holds new chances. In mere moments, I’ve felt a rollercoaster of emotions, but I’ll treasure each one, finding beauty in life’s twists and turns. In retrospect, I marvel at the boundless optimism I once possessed. Though it may seem folly in hindsight, my romantic heart didn’t understand the logic of cost-benefit analysis.
Then, one day, it happened after almost three months. It was a gray Thursday evening, after finishing my tuition, ready to head home. As usual, music filled the air, my voice singing freely as I rode my bike. I glanced toward her balcony, a daily habit, but this time, she stood there. She was drying her long, black hair, as stunning as she appeared on TV. I was at a loss for words. Anxiety gripped me, and in a moment of panic, I lost control of my bike, ending up on the ground with my bike on top of me. Thankfully, no injuries, but my heart ached with embarrassment. Pulling myself up, I glanced back at her balcony. To my surprise, she was giggling, whether at my fall, my off-key singing, or both, I couldn’t tell. Within seconds, I was back on my feet, bike in hand, and swiftly pedaling away. Looking back, I wonder if I should have lingered a moment longer. But alas, it was the last time our paths crossed. For the following three months, I stuck to my routine, but she remained elusive. Life took its course—I changed schools, and I heard she moved to different city for further studies. Our worlds never intersected again.
It’s been 17 years, yet whenever I return home and stroll down that familiar street, my gaze inevitably drifts to that balcony, despite knowing the family moved away long ago. Some habits, it seems, cling to us steadfastly. A friend informed me that she’s now married, residing with her husband somewhere in the USA. To her, I’m likely a non-existing memory, if even that, but for me, she symbolizes the genesis of something beautiful that endures to this day. At times, I ponder what might have unfolded had I mustered the courage to speak to her. Yet, perhaps it’s for the best; some emotions are best cherished in solitude.
I believed I’d never experience such feeling of attraction again, refocusing my energies on academics. But fate had other plans, as I discovered during my university days—a tale I’ll share in the next installment