Dear Crush ('Dear' series : Ep 02)

It’s a fine Monday morning. I was going through my old college books, which were covered with dust. I was searching for one to help my son understand a concept better. Suddenly, a letter slipped out. I picked it up. Something was scribbled on it—

1. I suffered from a terrible toothache.
2. I needed to see a doctor.
3. Instead, I met a nurse.
4. I told her about the pain.
5. She listened and then walked away to call the doctor, leaving me with hope.
6. But what remained? Me. My increasing pain.

Nostalgia hit hard. To all my dearest people, I wish to share a glimpse of my thoughts from one evening—three days before I wrote this letter.

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I stood near the wall—specifically, in one corner of the floor—waiting. Just waiting for the people inside the HOD’s room to come out. I needed to get in for a signature. I had been in the department since five in the evening. It was nearly seven now. Oh gosh! How much longer? I still had to complete and submit the application. Hoping for the best. Fingers crossed.

Out of boredom, I opened WhatsApp. 

I had never archived anyone’s chat before. But this time, I had decided—hers would be the first. I hadn’t really noticed her in the past year at college. When I first met her—recently, in an unexpected turn of events—I mistook her for someone else. It was my friend who corrected me. That black jacket over her shirt, the specs—perfect. I don’t know how, but I developed a deep attraction for her. "Crush at first sight!" my neurons fired. Nevertheless, I had met her. That alone felt significant.

Talking to her was awkward—too much so, one could say. Even my roommate thought she was getting irritated. I felt it, too. At one point, I decided this would be my last message. After that, I’d just remain a simple friend. At least I wouldn’t regret not having talked to her.

Bored, I sent a message. Anyone could tell it was random. I was pacing the floor in the department, restless. How much longer would I have to wait?!

She was, I suppose, crafted. Getting her number felt like an achievement. Imagine that—an achievement—for someone like me, a guy who had won multiple trophies and medals. And yet, here I was, feeling victorious over something as simple as getting a girl's number. She seemed utterly disinterested in talking to me. Or initial conversations are naturally awkward. But last night—not even twenty-four hours ago—something changed. Some of our thoughts aligned. And that conversation… that was something else. A hell of a great talk. I hadn’t chatted like that in months. And for that, I feel thankful to her.

I got a reply. Sitting on the stairs, waiting for a signature—I couldn't be happier to see the text. It was a long one. Was she interested in talking? No. Just a reply to answer my random query? Yeah. The small talk lasted less than a couple of minutes. I realized that she might get the wrong impression of me if I threw in another random query. What troubled me is that she might already have done that. I stared at her last message, took a deep breath, and clicked on her profile picture. That smile.

I’ve received compliments for mine, too. Most of the time, there’s seriousness on my face, and my friends would demand—bring back that smile. Some close ones even say my photos, without a smile, feel dull.

I was gazing at her photo. How could someone be so beautiful? It was as if God had created her, then took a second glance and thought this already gorgeous human being needed a little more perfection—and hence, she was created.

I was too engrossed. The door opened. Then closed. I glanced up for a moment, then back at my screen. It took me two minutes to realize that my two-hour wait had been in vain. I rushed downstairs. HOD was already inside the car, pulling onto the road. I had missed my chance. Today was the last date to submit my application for the scholarship. And I badly needed that signature. Yet, here I was, lost in a thought far from reality.

I wouldn’t be ashamed to admit it—I had a crush on her. Would you not call this a crush? I’ll let you ponder that question while I ponder my own—would she always remain my crush, or would she come closer?

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"It is most probably on the first rack, towards the window," a female voice responded. Was that the answer I sought? I turned back. My wife was standing there. At least she knew where the book was!

I got the book. Smiled at her. I threw the letter to the back of the shelf.
       

Siba Smarak Panigrahi
(C.r.u.s.h = Can't Resist Until Solace Happened, solace is rejection or acceptance?)

(This is the second part of a three-part story; check part 1 here and part 3 here)