Unspoken

She did not realise that she would ever look at a boy in a different light than she had before.

    That day – that moment – when she was getting onto the bus after her brother, she suddenly knew that this boy was very important to her. She did not realise it just yet, but she did turn around abruptly and wave goodbye to him. After all, he had dropped her off at the bus-stop on his two-wheeler – and she enjoyed scooter-rides. Hence, she had to pay her gratitude to him.

    Right...?

    He waved a hand as he turned around; it could have meant anything to others, herself included, but, deep down, she knew that he was acknowledging her action.

    That was the moment when her life changed quite dramatically.

    Sometime later, when she thought back upon this event, her fickle mind eventually landed into that part of her past that she had shared with him…however remote the interaction had been.

    She remembered how she had first met him—as the sister of his friend and classmate. His sister soon became one of her best friends. But, every time her family had met his, she had never actually acknowledged him, except for the times when he had asked her something – and then, she would answer just to the point, nothing more. That was years ago, when her family was still in her hometown.

    A year after her family transferred to a neighbouring state, he had come home with his father. It was then on that she had found signs of connection between herself and him, which, as an emerging teenager, she could not really comprehend.

    About two years later, when she had met him at his home, he even gave her a token from a collection of his; it was a particular habit, she realised, both of them had in common.

    Then, there was the time when she had wished him on his birthday – just once in her lifetime, so far, she thought – over the telephone, and he had sounded, what she interpreted, as happy and warm-hearted.

    That was it: she was in love – for the first time ever. She also knew, from the last time they had interacted, that he knew everything about her – something she rejoiced in as well as brooded upon. Rejoiced because she would not have to explain herself to him all the time, like she had to do with some of her friends; brooded because, since he knew so much about her, he would also have known about her sins, none of which she was particularly glad about.

    There was nothing she could do about it, so she chose to keep her feelings mum and not reveal them to anybody, unless vitally necessary. She always kept a diary with her, wherein she wrote all her experiences – a way of unloading her mind.

    She felt that she could handle a love that no one knew of.

    However, one day, recalling every moment she had ever spent with him, consciously or unconsciously, she wondered if he had said or asked what he did out of love for her.

    She speculated about her being in doubt forever… something that she was not really in favour of, but the only thing she could think of doing just then; after all, one must not count their chickens before they hatched.

    Thus, her words of love were to remain unspoken for a long to time to come…