Sam stood there, swaddled by a soap-scented mist, peering into the mirror. He could hardly see a thing. It turned frostier by the minute, as layers of trapped vapour gathered against the surface of the glass, weaving a collage of droplets. Some were tiny specks that dotted the square, while others were heavier; their weight dragging them down, leaving behind lazy crystal trails. Someone was singing in the shower, oblivious to people waiting outside. His song was bereft of tune, but his fervor more than made up for it. Sam wiped the hazy mirror with his palm and flipped out a comb from his left pocket. He held it to the right, drawing his wet hair across the length of his forehead. Not a strand was out of place. He looked hard at his reflection, staring at himself at length, turning his head this way and that, crinkling his chin in disapproval. He thought he looked too juvenile, and decided to part his hair down the middle. The resulting symmetry only accentuated the shape of his ovoid head, which sadly wasn't his best feature. Flustered, he ran his hand through his hair carelessly, messing it up. He mulled over what to do next for a while, the decision growing increasingly impossible with every passing minute. He sighed and finally made up his mind to adhere to the disheveled look. Infact, the unkempt hair added an air of mystery to his rather boyish face.
He'd never spent so much time in front of the mirror before. The head of a fifteen year old is always awash with a host of trifles and 'hair' hardly makes for one of them. But he wanted to look fetching for Noor. She shouldn't have to feel embarrassed to be seen with him. He wondered if this is what they call love. Maybe it wasn't. But he liked her enough to put her before himself. He thought about all the movies he'd watched, where the man would bend down on his knees before his woman in the middle of a busy street, holding out a singular synthetically-red rose, while thousands bore silent witness to his proclamation of love. It appeared too saccharine on screen, and barely appealed to his teenage sensibilities. But now, it somehow all made sense. He wasn't a boy anymore. He noticed a few tiny strands on his chin, heralding the onset of manhood. He plucked them out with a tweezer, one by one. He couldn't wait to grow up.
Sam didn't know how the day ended up slipping out from between his fingers. He would stare outside the window for hours. Mr. Ward's animated reenactments of the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857 couldn't restrain his restless mind from wandering out into the open. A couple of crows had been patiently building a nest, laying one twig at a time, in the mighty redwood tree that stood tall just outside the classroom. You could almost reach its branches if you leaned out far enough. There were half a dozen eggs in it, he noticed. One of them strangely stood out from the pack. It had a greenish hue like the others. However, the speckled pattern on its surface looked oddly foreign; they were smaller, less clustered. There were times when a koel would visit the nest when the parents were away, forever circumspect. She would stare at that lonely egg wistfully, singing out little bird lullabies to it. She never overstayed. She knew it was one of the last times that she would see her baby. The crows would never leave the nest unattended, once the eggs hatch. Would the nestling ever recognize its mother? Would it ever get to learn her song? Sam wondered if birds felt love like humans. Maybe they understood it better.
Rishi nudged Sam from behind. It broke his trance, and he looked over his shoulder. Rishi held out a folded note for him.
"Give it to her. When you meet her that is."
And he went back to scribbling hearts at the back of his notebook. Sam opened the note, hiding it under the desk. It was meant for Noor. It said something about how he couldn't think of anything but her, and wanted nothing more but to spend some time with her after class. Sam felt a sudden rush of guilt, and stashed the note deep down his pocket. This was not the first time that Rishi wrote to Noor. He knew that Sam had grown to be friends with her over summer, and couldn't be more thrilled, for now he had a medium of reaching out to her and communicate his true emotions. He would compose childish letters on ruled pages torn out hastily from his diary, and trusted Sam to be his emissary. He never questioned him about Noor's reaction to them. He never asked him if she wrote back. He was certain that Sam would tell him if there was anything worth telling. They were friends after all, and by definition, they had no secrets.
---------------------
The discordant bell concluded another long school day, and a swarm of boys spilled out into the corridors. Sam was waiting for the arrival of this very moment, and he didn't waste anymore energy on idle small talk. Truth be told, boys his age bored him. They were mostly immature, discussing inane, puerile subjects of no possible consequence for the greater part of the day. They were loud, intrusive and didn't know the first thing about invigorating conversation. They hardly read. They couldn't care less for the arts. They bickered over football teams. They talked about browsing through pornography on the internet when their parents weren't looking. Sam was painfully aware of who he was, and he felt lost in a crowd of confused children.
"Don't forget to give it to her." Rishi called out from the distance.
Sam nodded without looking back. He tried not to think about the letter. He made his way past a myriad irrelevant faces, down the corridor and headed toward the school grounds. He was walking as fast as his legs could carry him. This was his hour of escape. This was when he felt alive. He noticed Noor standing in the distance, leaning over her easel. Sam could feel himself grinning foolishly. She was perfect, he thought. Her tresses were rolled in a bunch behind her head, a pencil holding them together. She had paint all over her skirt. Her hands were blue from the ocean on her canvas. She smelled distinctly of turpentine.
"I'm here", he said, calling out from behind her.
Startled, she turned back. The pencil fell out of her hair, and unbridled cascades came rushing down her neck up to the small of her back. She ran her hand clumsily in an effort to brush away the locks from her forehead. It left a dash of blue behind.
--------------------
It was almost after dinner, and Sam realized that he should head back to his room. He kissed Noor goodnight, and walked past the neatly trimmed hedges which smelt of dew. It was his birthday the next day, and he was expecting a huge congregation in his dorm that night. There would be bottles of alcohol smuggled in through bribed kitchen staff. There would be customary rolls of marijuana. There would be singing in loud whispers followed by traditional birthday hazing rituals. He wished Noor could be there to join in the festivities. He tiptoed past a snoring guard and crept into his dorm. The hallway seemed awfully quiet. Sam was half expecting an army of boys to jump out from the shadows when he saw someone sitting at the base of the winding staircase. It was Rishi. He was sitting with his head hung low, clutching a bundle of letters. Sam stopped in his steps.
"Rishi, is it you?," he called out.
Rishi looked up. His eyes were red from crying. There was anger brewing in them. His face was ashen with disgust. Sam's worst fears had come true.
"Where were you?" he said, his voice cracking from the strain.
Sam couldn't bring himself to reply. He felt his stomach churning inside of him. He struggled to breathe. He mumbled incoherently.
"Were you screwing her? Were you screwing my girl?", Rishi said, slowly forming the words, his voice rising. He flung the letters at Sam's crumbling face. They fell around him noisily, like a pack of cards.
"She wasn't yours. She didn't even know you." he said, averting his eyes.
"Ofcourse. And you made sure that she never did." Rishi stood up and walked towards him. His steps were small and measured. Sam knew he was going to hurt him. He was prepared. Infact he was glad that he did not have to lie to him anymore. He shut his eyes in anticipation.
But nothing happened. He opened his eyes to see Rishi leaving. He wished that he had hurt him. That way he would have had paid his dues. Bruises heal with time, the marks fade away. Its the unresolved that rattle the sturdiest foundations, widen the crevices and wreak havoc.
Rishi stopped and turned around to look at him one last time. He looked a lot older in that moment. His face was marred with disappointment.
"I thought you were different, Sam. But you turned out just like the rest of them. An ungrateful parasite." he said.
The note from the morning was still nestled deep in his pocket. It pricked him like a pesky needle.
He'd never spent so much time in front of the mirror before. The head of a fifteen year old is always awash with a host of trifles and 'hair' hardly makes for one of them. But he wanted to look fetching for Noor. She shouldn't have to feel embarrassed to be seen with him. He wondered if this is what they call love. Maybe it wasn't. But he liked her enough to put her before himself. He thought about all the movies he'd watched, where the man would bend down on his knees before his woman in the middle of a busy street, holding out a singular synthetically-red rose, while thousands bore silent witness to his proclamation of love. It appeared too saccharine on screen, and barely appealed to his teenage sensibilities. But now, it somehow all made sense. He wasn't a boy anymore. He noticed a few tiny strands on his chin, heralding the onset of manhood. He plucked them out with a tweezer, one by one. He couldn't wait to grow up.
Sam didn't know how the day ended up slipping out from between his fingers. He would stare outside the window for hours. Mr. Ward's animated reenactments of the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857 couldn't restrain his restless mind from wandering out into the open. A couple of crows had been patiently building a nest, laying one twig at a time, in the mighty redwood tree that stood tall just outside the classroom. You could almost reach its branches if you leaned out far enough. There were half a dozen eggs in it, he noticed. One of them strangely stood out from the pack. It had a greenish hue like the others. However, the speckled pattern on its surface looked oddly foreign; they were smaller, less clustered. There were times when a koel would visit the nest when the parents were away, forever circumspect. She would stare at that lonely egg wistfully, singing out little bird lullabies to it. She never overstayed. She knew it was one of the last times that she would see her baby. The crows would never leave the nest unattended, once the eggs hatch. Would the nestling ever recognize its mother? Would it ever get to learn her song? Sam wondered if birds felt love like humans. Maybe they understood it better.
Rishi nudged Sam from behind. It broke his trance, and he looked over his shoulder. Rishi held out a folded note for him.
"Give it to her. When you meet her that is."
And he went back to scribbling hearts at the back of his notebook. Sam opened the note, hiding it under the desk. It was meant for Noor. It said something about how he couldn't think of anything but her, and wanted nothing more but to spend some time with her after class. Sam felt a sudden rush of guilt, and stashed the note deep down his pocket. This was not the first time that Rishi wrote to Noor. He knew that Sam had grown to be friends with her over summer, and couldn't be more thrilled, for now he had a medium of reaching out to her and communicate his true emotions. He would compose childish letters on ruled pages torn out hastily from his diary, and trusted Sam to be his emissary. He never questioned him about Noor's reaction to them. He never asked him if she wrote back. He was certain that Sam would tell him if there was anything worth telling. They were friends after all, and by definition, they had no secrets.
---------------------
The discordant bell concluded another long school day, and a swarm of boys spilled out into the corridors. Sam was waiting for the arrival of this very moment, and he didn't waste anymore energy on idle small talk. Truth be told, boys his age bored him. They were mostly immature, discussing inane, puerile subjects of no possible consequence for the greater part of the day. They were loud, intrusive and didn't know the first thing about invigorating conversation. They hardly read. They couldn't care less for the arts. They bickered over football teams. They talked about browsing through pornography on the internet when their parents weren't looking. Sam was painfully aware of who he was, and he felt lost in a crowd of confused children.
"Don't forget to give it to her." Rishi called out from the distance.
Sam nodded without looking back. He tried not to think about the letter. He made his way past a myriad irrelevant faces, down the corridor and headed toward the school grounds. He was walking as fast as his legs could carry him. This was his hour of escape. This was when he felt alive. He noticed Noor standing in the distance, leaning over her easel. Sam could feel himself grinning foolishly. She was perfect, he thought. Her tresses were rolled in a bunch behind her head, a pencil holding them together. She had paint all over her skirt. Her hands were blue from the ocean on her canvas. She smelled distinctly of turpentine.
"I'm here", he said, calling out from behind her.
Startled, she turned back. The pencil fell out of her hair, and unbridled cascades came rushing down her neck up to the small of her back. She ran her hand clumsily in an effort to brush away the locks from her forehead. It left a dash of blue behind.
--------------------
It was almost after dinner, and Sam realized that he should head back to his room. He kissed Noor goodnight, and walked past the neatly trimmed hedges which smelt of dew. It was his birthday the next day, and he was expecting a huge congregation in his dorm that night. There would be bottles of alcohol smuggled in through bribed kitchen staff. There would be customary rolls of marijuana. There would be singing in loud whispers followed by traditional birthday hazing rituals. He wished Noor could be there to join in the festivities. He tiptoed past a snoring guard and crept into his dorm. The hallway seemed awfully quiet. Sam was half expecting an army of boys to jump out from the shadows when he saw someone sitting at the base of the winding staircase. It was Rishi. He was sitting with his head hung low, clutching a bundle of letters. Sam stopped in his steps.
"Rishi, is it you?," he called out.
Rishi looked up. His eyes were red from crying. There was anger brewing in them. His face was ashen with disgust. Sam's worst fears had come true.
"Where were you?" he said, his voice cracking from the strain.
Sam couldn't bring himself to reply. He felt his stomach churning inside of him. He struggled to breathe. He mumbled incoherently.
"Were you screwing her? Were you screwing my girl?", Rishi said, slowly forming the words, his voice rising. He flung the letters at Sam's crumbling face. They fell around him noisily, like a pack of cards.
"She wasn't yours. She didn't even know you." he said, averting his eyes.
"Ofcourse. And you made sure that she never did." Rishi stood up and walked towards him. His steps were small and measured. Sam knew he was going to hurt him. He was prepared. Infact he was glad that he did not have to lie to him anymore. He shut his eyes in anticipation.
But nothing happened. He opened his eyes to see Rishi leaving. He wished that he had hurt him. That way he would have had paid his dues. Bruises heal with time, the marks fade away. Its the unresolved that rattle the sturdiest foundations, widen the crevices and wreak havoc.
Rishi stopped and turned around to look at him one last time. He looked a lot older in that moment. His face was marred with disappointment.
"I thought you were different, Sam. But you turned out just like the rest of them. An ungrateful parasite." he said.
The note from the morning was still nestled deep in his pocket. It pricked him like a pesky needle.
