And Then They Became Friends.

Did she care, wonder or wish he questioned her about her ' monsoon of hills' kind of behavior with him? Another hitch and trouble here. She had never confessed it to anybody. Not even to herself. There is no available account of this. So let the soul of these questions and curiosities rest in peace.

And yes, they were just good friends (good could be subtracted though). She knew it for sure.

A lock of hairs never fell on her face when he came in the view. No gush of wind rustled her scarf to his face. Her feet never slipped for him to hold her. She never tried to look better or talk different in front of him, to him.

So all was going as it should have. Only one clause should be added here which makes him " a worth mention " character. With him, She could be what she was, in the heart of her heart, in the spirit of her soul.

Then one fine day a friend of hers, a not girlie-girl type yet close to it, said to her- dear, do not lose somebody for someone else you care less about. And she realized that she did care about him after all. And that it mattered to her whether he was a friend or a not-friend to her.

He Mattered To Her.

He was an open book. A book of mysterious puzzles.

Now let us come to " The Small Town Taboo " trouble. She liked to talk to him. She did it more often than those earlier mentioned silly girls thought it was normal. Normal for ' we are just friends ' people of opposite sexes. Now here was the hitch.

She cared about the silly-sensational-Sunday gossips in girls' hostel. They were about her after all. She also missed his carefree-casual-caring companionship. She did not dislike him after all.

Now this was a rare thing in her life.

She was a girl with Whites & Blacks. Of the shade grey, she was color-blind. She either liked or disliked people. She either talked or did not talk to people. Remember, she was a girl, Just on it. No complexities around her.

So there was that boy who fell in one category on Mondays and the other on Wednesdays. On Tuesdays she was clueless. But never the grey shade. So what about ' talking or not talking to him ' part? She would keep to those girlie-girls then. What if he approached her? He never did. Why? Let's talk of it later.

A Boy Now, Worth Mention.

A new place, new people. Same story. How do these girls around her get enough boys to have crush on? They have heard of Dravids and Beckhams. She lived with Darcys and Buttlers. She had opened her grilled windows. The doors were still locked.

Others cared? NO.

She dared? NO.

That boy of the past? He lingered. Sometimes she would give him a thought. Less because of him and more because of her own loneliness or call it lack of any other any other boy she could give a thought to. Bits and pieces of ' the teenage ' were left with her. And the fading memories of that scar, thanks to ' the teenage' .

Then she took another steps. COLLEGE. Only difference here to her school- Quantity. More number of silly girls. Higher numbers of ' not worth giving a thought ' boys. Plus another trouble. Call it " The Small Town Taboo " trouble. Let's discuss this trouble later.

There was a boy here. It felt nice to talk to him. She could talk sense and nonsense with equal ease and she was received equal amount of interest. Always. NONE what-so-ever. Or this is what she often felt.

The Girl That She Was

But she did dream. Less of " The Man " and more of " The Life " she would have some day. The initial years of her teenage passed without any incident or accident with occasional thoughts in her - where do these girls around her get boys enough to have crush on ? She could notice or find none. The few that were, were brothers or " not worth giving a thought ".

It was okay with her. She was not a tom-boy. She was not a girlie-girl either. She was a girl. Just on it.

But can the teenage ever fall on a girl without leaving its scars before she scrubs it away from her? There was this boy. Again, a boy. Just on it. Looked very plain. But as long as he did not open his mouth. He would speak, not very often, but he did. And that was " the cupid arrow " for her. He was different. How? Why? Well he was. In how he spoke and what he spoke.

He spoke what she could not speak but could think of and the rest could do neither. But there was a stubborn air around him. And that kept them away. Till she actually went away, with memory of a hand-shake or two and same amount of tears (a may-be could be added here).

She was a girl.

It was a day extracted straight from some classic novel. Gentle breeze of evening, clouds floating close over the head and drizzle just enough to feel but not enough to get wet. Melodious and lively chirps of birds. Looking towards the dusky horizon, wondering where that black Mercedes hunk turned to go, that extremely well groomed, fair to a certain degree with a stubble look guy.

And her feet slipped.

Then as if from the very novel itself, that HE appeared behind her to hold her tight in his masculine grip before she could have any contact with the very ground she was walking on or rather gliding.....

BEEP.....BEEP.....BEEP

The hell, are there any living Cinderellas in this world? May be. May be not. One thing had become certain ten years back. She was not. She could not be. She was not born to be. While her friends were blooming with arrival of teenage in their lives, she was yet a bud. She had understood long back that she will not grow-up to be a lady who robs gentlemen of their hearts, who get their begging proposals laden with sweet love talks in the platter of romantic dates in expensive high-end restaurants. No, she was not an ugly duckling. She was a girl. Just on it. Nothing else to describe her on a positive or negative scale of forthcoming womanhood.