Of Paper and Glass

Chapter-2

Life is unpredictable. We meet so many people on this journey of life. The first time we meet someone is like a bright sunny day, full of intrigue and vigor. Our mind tries to comprehend if we would enjoy talking about our interests with this person. We are clueless about the impact of this new person on our life. On the contrary, the last time we meet someone is like a sunny day that ends with rain; unpredictable. We begin our day with no premonition about how it is going to end. Hours and days later, we internalize the fact that we will never meet them again. That all our emotions will remain inarticulate for the remainder of our lives.

One thing in common between both days is our baffled state. The irony clouding both days is the fact that our observations are based on assumptions. We have no control over the circumstances that inevitably lead to our last meeting. Sometimes all that's left is regret. Regret that our last words to them were the harshest we ever spoke, or worse; we spoke nothing.

I find myself in a similar state as my grip on my umbrella loosens. For twelve years, I've met many people. I've deluded myself by thinking that I was over this six-feet tall man who stands before me now. My heart beats against my ribs so forcefully that I'm almost convinced he can hear it. This should not be happening.

"Atharva?" My voice sounds muffled by the sobs that I'm controlling. I refuse to let him affect me anymore. No dumb replies now, Siya! I close my eyes and gulp before making eye contact with him.

My heart pauses. There was a time when one glance at those eyes would be enough to reveal all his secrets and emotions. Now, his eyes hold a myriad of emotions that I find difficult to comprehend. He's wearing a navy blue henley that fits him perfectly and compliments his khadi trousers. I remember how I'd once told him that dark shades of blue oddly suited him.

I feel my brain freeze. Comprehension skills leave me as I fumble for the right words. Seventeen-year-old me had a fair amount of complaints that I yearned to voice to this man. Yearnings that serve no purpose are better left on the sidewalk on this road of life.

"Yup, that's me." He attempts to smile at me but fails. It reminds me of the nervous look he'd given our chemistry viva examiner in twelfth grade. I teased him because his apprehensions seemed pointless. He was the topper of the class.

Why did we grow so distant that we hesitate while trying to talk to each other? Jinse baatein hi khatam nahi hoti thi unse baat hi khatam ho gayi, kyun?

"Long time." I attempt to smile. Too dumbfounded to form words, I speak what comes to mind. "I have an evening lecture, so I must get going." I grimace as I feel moisture forming behind my eyelids. My hands tremble as I try to tighten my grip on the tote bag and umbrella.

"I understand. Maybe we can catch up later," he says with pleading eyes. Those light brown eyes sparkling with mischief once had the power to dictate my life. Not anymore.

"Maybe." I whisper with a rueful smile. "See you around," I say as I rush forwards, ignoring the way his arms instinctively reach out for a hug. He lost that right years ago.

This is not supposed to happen. He is that chapter of my life that should remain unheard of. Funny how I believed I had any control over my life. Fate is playing a game of sadistic pleasure and I am the most unfortunate next victim. I feel a sob building up and momentarily clogging my throat. The urge to lock myself in my room and forget this happened overpowers me. The logical part of my brain reminds me that he should no longer have that effect on me. My heart sobs, protesting for that last chance to clear the air between us. There is nothing left to discuss.

My feet involuntarily lead me to the faculty accommodation. Mrs. Sharma, the history lecturer, waves at me. I stare at her blankly, unable to contemplate. My hand waves of its own accord as I continue towards the staircase. The petrichor smell does nothing to calm me as the sound of my heels clicking on the granite floor fills the air. Passing by the notice board on the ground floor, I turn right towards the stairs. My hands grip the balustrade tightly as I walk, my feet threatening to slip because of the damp heels. As I reach the door to my apartment on the brown walled corridor, I realize that my umbrella is still covering me.