The One Who Kissed My Forehead

3. About Another Encounter

You send me your poems,
I'll send you mine.

Things tend to awaken
even through random communication

Let us suddenly
proclaim spring and jeer
at the others,
all the others.

I will send a picture too
if you will send me one of you.

It almost became a habit that we both shared one poem every night, with the other person. Today, I shared one of Robert Greeley's with her.

They say time flies. They've never lied.
2 weeks passed by while talking to Hazel, like 2 hours, and everyday I used to fall sleep while typing out a reply to her. There was a strange comfort in talking with her, the kind of comfort I never felt in a friendship earlier.

In these 2 weeks, we still didn't know what the other person looked like. I of course knew what her back looked like, and she saw my childhood picture from the bedside frame. However, We didn't know what the other person sounded like and to be honest, a part of me didn't want to know that anyway.

I was liking this strangeness, the freedom, the carelessness of being judged and the warmth that our connection held.

But the other part of me wanted to know quite curiously what she looked like, what she sounded like. It was as if this part of mine was the Sherlock Holmes who wanted to crack the mystery behind how I could connect with a stranger with such an ease.

Our chats were funny (she has a great sense of humor), sarcastic (I was always the target after all), poetic (where we connect the most) and musical (we kind of shared the same taste). Every poetry that I shared with her, every song that I played while talking to her. She liked them the same way that I did. It was like we were on the same tangent, every single time.

I don't know what's the scientific word in the dictionary of society to describe a connection like this but all I know is that, it just felt right; it always did.

Things were also easier because we both knew our limits and respected each others' privacy. I very well knew that she wasn't interested in the emotion of love, currently, and she, I hope knew that I was always only looking for a friend.

I was still trying to fit into the lifestyle New York carried, I was a misfit in the school parties that I attended twice till date, just to make some social contacts but a bookish man like me can never be one of the party fanatics.

I remember while my friends forced me on the dance floor, I'd run in a corner and keep chatting with Hazel, the whole time.

My school was going fine and I had an idea while talking with Hazel of doing a part-time job in the city. I also had to go & submit the book (that bought me my first friend) back to the library today and while coming back, I had to go to check out some stores, if there was a vacancy.

"I might get a bit late", I informed Aunt Stacey while leaving for the Library.

"Okay but don't be too late.", sometimes I even forget that I'm not with my parents, she put her hand on my head while I tied my shoes laces.

"I'll see you, bye", and I hugged her.

_______________________________________

The girl is definitely annoyed with that guy, I thought to myself watching a guy a few tables ahead of me, reading a bit loud disallowing others on that same table to concentrate.

I turned towards Martha to submit the book and made the entry in my library card.

Meanwhile, Martha did that, I looked back at the girl. She was definitely so annoyed, she had beautiful eyes, more British to me than American because of her short haircut and pale complexion. She was trying to focus and concentrate on her book, but this guy, I tell you, cared for no one. She was plugging in one of her fingers in her ear which by the way were covered by her hair, just so that she could avoid him. She kind of looked cute with that 'I'm so irritated' expression.