Visions of a lonely mind

"... in fiction, the author can really tell the truth without humiliating himself." -- Jim Rohn.

****

"I need to talk to you. Alone." I said, trying to look as determined as possible and without losing eye contact.

"Now?! Class is about to start! Also, she doesn't want to talk to you." Her friend retorted.

"Please..." I reiterated, ignoring her friend, maintaining eye contact all throughout. Reluctantly, silently, her lizard eyes heeded. She had to! After all, she wanted to talk to me too. She did, right?

Both of us walk towards the school library located at the end of the corridor as if we telepathically agreed upon the location; well, maybe it was just me following her. Privacy welcomed us in the library which seemed smaller than its image in my memory. But then, I hadn't visited the library for years, or so it felt. And suddenly, I found thoughts racing in my mind; angry thoughts; incomprehensible thoughts; thoughts disheveled by emotions.

We stop. And I start, "Why aren't you talking to me nowadays?!" Excitement and urgency smeared every word of mine.

"Because I don't want to."

"Really?! Was it always like this? But you used to love my company, right?" I almost mocked at her.

"Used to." Her calm reply accompanied by a smirk angered me more.

"Then what happened all of a sudden?!" Silence followed although my mind was screaming in an unknown language. I waited for her reply. She simply ignored my question and started looking elsewhere. "Is it because of him?"

I got her attention alright, if you call a stare attention. "Better you don't bring him in the discussion," she shouted at me and after a split second, almost as if guilty of the same, adamant nonetheless, she whispered, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine! So you won't talk to me anymore, right?" I asked, still clinging to that sliver of hope in my stupid heart. She ever-so-slightly smiled again. I didn't know what to make of it. I was too angry and disappointed for my mind to reason something. How can someone smile at such a time?

I snapped and stormed out of the library cursing her. Tears welled up in my eyes. She seemed to follow me, crying out, "No Saheel! It's not like that!" Frankly, I don't know whether she actually said it or I was imagining things; epochs later, I console my heart that it was the former.

As distance separated us, tears started flowing more freely. But I knew I couldn't go on pacing like this; my classroom lied only a few meters ahead. I don't remember what she did then. Did she laugh? Did she feel sorry?

Fighting tears and curious glances from everyone else, I entered my classroom. The history class had already started. I went to the last bench and sat between Shreyas and Salil. Since Shreyas was busy doing something on his Note 2 he missed the leftovers in my eyes but Salil noticed them, though he wisely chose not to mention or inquire about them.

I tried to concentrate in the class. Obviously, I couldn't. Ma'am was asking something about Che Guevara. I turned to Salil, "Since when did they start teaching Cuban Revolution in high school?!" My mind was still agitated which reflected in my remark.

"A week ago." Salil replied matter-of-factly, which irritated me some more. It was a rhetorical question, smartass! I flipped over the pages of my notes. And there he was! Che Guevara. I usually don't forget so easily what is taught in the class. But today was different. Needless to say, we didn't have a clue to the answer. Shreyas was still playing with his shiny new phone.

A foreign exchange student, sitting 3 desks across us, blabbered something. Neither his voice nor his accent could reach us. Ma'am nodded but wasn't satisfied. A girl, the new entrant, stood up and answered confidently. Ma'am was happy and so were we. Not knowing much about the girl, I raised my eyebrows and looked towards Salil, who shrugged, "HS student hain. World Politics aata hoga."

****

I slowly open my eyes and find myself sleeping in an awkward position. Unplanned nap. A heavy and sad, but familiar, emotion instantly fills my heart. I feel lonely, wondering what my friends must be doing at Pondy. Sea food. Sight-seeing. I miss them. And her as well.

But why am I missing her out of nowhere?! I was normal before I slept. Did I dream of something?

Dreams are mysterious phenomena of life. Although they reflect your real life during the day, they rarely are time-and-space consistent, and usually contain a mixture of many events, locations, and characters. Moreover, dreams are badass brain's special weapons: on some days, vivid and embarrassing dreams will haunt you all day; on others, however sure you are that you were dreaming, you won't remember it come what may! As in this case.

Let me call her. Yes! I will call her today. Right now!

It has been a month since it happened. And almost one more since we talked innocently, without a hint of what awaited us in the future. Happy times! But loneliness ruffles the heart and brings forth memories buried and hopes forgotten. And via dreams, mind adds some graphic masala to it and takes them to the next level!

No! I cannot give in to the malicious mind. What should I do? What can I do?!

I need to divert my attention. In troubled times turn to your friends, they say. Unless they are fucking asleep in the neighboring room! Or traveling. Or busy with parents/relatives/friends. Or doing their work. Or... Arghh! Useless! Did I hear Anime? Ahh.. yes, a sure shot solution and hence to be used like an Ace. In despair. But wait...

What was the dream all about anyway?!

A couple of minutes of composed meditation in an attempt to remember the dream tells me that my room needs a swipe. But my broom has been borrowed, and not returned, by Sagar who is trekking and rafting somewhere in Karnataka. So much for friendship. *sigh* While cleaning my room using a freshie's broom, the trolling nerves in my brain give in: I  remember the dream!

Best friends. Library. Che Guevara. Smartphones. Foreigners and HS students in High School. And her. One heck of a dream, eh!