Writing about you

The sunlight streamed through the window making my brown ugly eyes glow like they’ve been lit by a thousand fires.

I haven’t slept enough lately, craving more what ifs and butterflies fluttering my stomach. Apparently I’ve been staring at the ceiling for too long thinking of the things about us.

Let’s make a world of our own. Let’s breathe, scream and laugh, you knew in every moment I would just let out ‘I want to scream’ and you would just look at me and wonder why I am like this? I would just giggle it off because you knew there isn’t a soul like mine out there. We would have these odd moments where we could stare and gawk at each other but you’d win the staring competition as looking into your eyes was something impossible to do. Eyes speak everything.

We had dreams of doing silly things in parts of the city and holding hands while walking down busy streets, humming to ‘I had a dream, we were sipping whiskey neat’ and you would just look at me in confusion when I got the Selena’s verses wrong. And to eat in fancy restaurants ordering Friday night Joey’s special and wonder how we are going to manage to pay the bill, so we would just always think of meals we could make together dancing in the kitchen.

To end our day full of happiness, something we crave after a long tiring week. But it seems like I didn’t have to win a staring competition to realise at the end of the day, I had fallen in love with you.




Suddenly something happened to me that I didn’t quite understand. My body was reacting normally. I was hot and extremely bothered. My heart was reacting normally. It was beating fast and loud. My mind though; nothing normal going on up there. Normally my mind would be in the trash about right now. Thinking about all of the things I wanted to tell her. Images of walking on the beach with our pants rolled up while holding hands. Images of long rides, cotton candy and big useless stuffed teddy bears. Images of lying on a blanket in the grass holding her while we watch fireworks. Images of walking to her door with flowers and dancing with her after dinner in the moonlight. Images of me playing the guitar and she singing one of those Selena songs. Images of… okay you get the picture. I stopped suddenly and looked at the beautiful now dark eyes. They were looking back at me confused.

“Are you okay?” she asked, out of breath.

“This is what you want, right?”

“Yes, of course, yes. But I…” I didn’t want to scare her away with the truth but I couldn’t lie to her in this moment with the way she was looking at me. I was not confident enough to believe she wanted the same.

“Just tell me”, she said as her fingers softly grazed my cheek, her head tilted to the side, her eyes looking into mine as if I was everything she ever dreamed of falling in love with a boy with hazel brown coloured eyes. “What do you want?” She asked.

“Everything. I want everything with you”, I replied, tucking a strand of fallen hair behind her ear, looking at her like she was all I had ever dreamed of.



“Summer is my favourite season” he said, “and when I look at you it’s almost like you’re my sun. But there’s a difference. You never blind me.

She looked at him, holding onto his hands like he was about to slip away. “Please don’t say things like that. You’re making it sound like I’m perfect. I am no good. How can’t you see? You’re so innocent. I can see your whole story when I look into your eyes. I used to think brown was an ugly colour. I often associated it with things like mud and rotting wood. But then I met you, the boy with brown eyes, and when I looked into them, brown was no longer ugly. I began to associate it with beautiful things like cups of coffee, sweet chocolate. You’re so kind and loving. So much more unlike me. I am no good.”

His smile had faded. He looked so serious now, and there was something else in his eyes : he was damaged. He had been for so long. “You’re summer, and I love summer. So please, no matter what I do, don’t give up on me, because without you, I’m struck in winter. And I can’t be stuck in winter forever. Not again!”



“It’s endlessly fascinating, isn’t it?” The noise of the city nearly drowned out of her words as she turned up her collar against the wind, reaching for his outstretched hand.

“What is?” he asked, linking his fingers with hers. Her eyes followed the people crossing the road, latching onto passing cars every now and then, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“I just can’t help wondering about all these people.”

“About all of them?” Laughter laced his voice. It died when he saw the serious look on her face.

“All of them.” She confirmed solemnly, nodding, “every single one. Have you ever thought about how may different stories they have to tell? Look at that man over there” – she pulled her hand free to point at a man carrying a bouquet of flowers further down the street. “What if he just brought the flowers for the love of his life, ready to surprise her? What if he takes them to his sick mother to cheer her up? There are billions of people and they all have a favourite colour and a favourite song they sing along to in the shower. They all have a person that makes their heart beat faster and some of them wake up to an empty bed and wish they wouldn’t. Some of them have their life figured out at the age of sixteen, and others are in their forties and regret all the things they didn’t do when they were young. They worry and they argue and they love and they cry themselves to sleep. They’re all so separate, yet so connected.” She paused, looking at him with her big round eyes.

“They all have their stories to tell. I sometimes wonder how many stories I’m part of it. What impressions I left behind on someone else’s life. If they even remember meeting me.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear as she smiled and rested his forehead against hers.

“I don’t know about any of these other faceless person, but I know about me. I have many stories to tell, but the ones with you in it are my favourite. You have not only left an impression on my life – you made my story ours!”


Sweet Reminiscing

They sat with their shoulders touching and their knees bumping against each other. She smiled when he gently laced his fingers through her hair but her good mood faltered when she took a look at his face. He seemed distracted, his brows furrowed and his forehead wrinkled, his eyes unfocused.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I keep thinking about what would have happened if I hadn’t been at that birthday party a year ago and drunk out of my mind. I would never have made a move to talk to you.” He glanced down at their joined hands.

“You wouldn’t have vomited all over my new shoes, either.” He laughed at the memory, remembering the embarrassment that had set his cheeks aflame as though it was yesterday. “Where would we be now if we hadn’t met there?”, he asked quietly. There was something about reminiscing that left a bitter aftertaste. Being nostalgic always came with the finality of knowing a situation had passed.

“How do we know what we missed out when we were at the wrong places with the wrong people? What if it was something wonderful, something life changing? Something we didn’t get to experience because we made the wrong decision?” She squeezed his hand and pressed her lips to his temple, quick and sweet.

“We don’t. And I think that’s what makes life so interesting and so beautiful!”


Can you write?

‚ÄčThe first week of college.

New place, new faces, awkward first conversations, silent observations.

My college was known for providing a platform for students to express their ‘talents’.

We have many clubs; mainly the art circle, many more activities and a huge number of talented students.

We were asked to register for something called ‘The most promising artist’.

I thought why not give it a try. I enrolled in it.

Our seniors judged us on our communication skills and talent.

My communication skills are zero.

In the first round of the screening process, I was asked to give a creative introduction about myself followed by a talent round.

A lot of people acted, danced and performed songs. I wasn’t that kind of a person who’d enter a room and boom their greetings.

I somehow shaking finished my short intro.

“What’s your talent?” Someone from the judges asked.

“I can write”, I replied.

They didn’t seemed impressed.

“I write what I feel”, I continued.

I was interrupted, “Can you narrate a story?”

*Again, lack of communication skills*

“Uhh.. my stories are kind of big, but I’ll try to be brief.”

I was interrupted again, “We don’t have much time for such nonsense, do you have any other talents?”

“No,” I replied watching that Fender Guitar lying on the floor. I knew how to play a guitar but writing was my strength and I was quite tired playing Photograph by Ed Sheeran straight for weeks.

“Thank you. Who’s next?”

I felt dejected.

The list of students who were shortlisted for the next round was put up the next day. I wasn’t surprised when my name wasn’t there. There will be many occasions when your talent isn’t recognized.

There will be many times when you won’t receive the appreciation you deserve.

There will be many times when your voice won’t be heard.

You might have the greatest ideas.

You might have better stories to narrate.

You might be the most creative person in a crowd. It is incidents like these that teach you life lessons the hard way.

I felt terrible that day.

I went home and watched ‘The perks of being a wallflower’.

I honestly haven’t heard or watched anything that relatable.

Yes, I am that shy introvert guy who thinks twice before starting a conversation.

Yes I am that shy introvert who is dying to be heard but never gets heard. I would never be able to say this loud; hence I write.

But can you? Can you fucking write?


Being an Introvert

It sometimes sucks, sitting alone in the corner of a room full of people.

Entering a class full of people where everyone saves their friend a seat but no one does that for you.

Being a laughing stock for that cool, glam group.

Sitting still in a place full of life and motion.

Being judged for your insecurities. Being judge for you weirdness. Being judge for your ‘over sensitivity’.

When you’re so easy to be forgotten when you’re so easy to replace when everyone moves on with new life except you.

Being an introvert sometimes leads to dark nights of noiseless cries and no sleep with that shy heart caged behind the bars of insecurity and fear.

Fear of everyone leaving.

Fear of being alone.

It’s okay to be afraid sometimes.

But in the end, you’re going to make it. It’s okay if those mean words affect you for long. You’re human, and it’s going to hurt, but you can ignore it, make it vanish sooner right?

Cherish what you have today.

Love the ones who love you, care for the people who care for you.

Be nice to all and don’t judge, because you know how it feels to be on the other end of the judging play.

Don’t let anyone make you forget that you’re a treasure, that deep, loving, attached, trustable and helping person.

You rainbow sprinkled sparkling ray of sunshine; you deserve happiness more than anyone else, don’t let it fly away.