Clad in a dark brown frock-shalwar, with a finely woven red stole laced with green stripes draped delicately over her head, Sheherzad’s bluish velvety sweater caught the faint rays of sunlight, making her appear ethereal. A quadrangular pink hankie rested softly in her left hand as she ducked slightly, flattening her hair. When she smiled her soft, dimpled smile, it had the power to stop time. But that day, it turned me into an object of ridicule.

My gasping breath betrayed my tardiness to class. I was late to college due to massive traffic jam in the town. As I stepped inside, her face lit up like a thousand suns. Her gaze followed me, her narrowed eyes brimming with unspoken emotions. We exchanged cheerful, cursory glances, the kind of silent communication that only enamored pair understands—a shared language understood amidst the chaos of bustling bazaars and crowded classrooms.

In the corner of the room, she sat oscillating her ballpoint pen, licking her lips nervously. Her quizzical smile, a perfect mix of mischief and longing, melted my heart. Even in her silence, Sheherzad spoke volumes. She had carved out a privileged space in her heart for me, an ember of unrequited love that refused to die. But Sheherzad was from a world far removed from mine. She was ridiculously rich, I was pathetically poor. She was a star, radiant and untouchable, while I was a simple earthly creature, yet yearning. She wanted to embrace me, live and die for me but my uncommon living standard and style didn’t allow me to jump into the black hole of love. I was told that it is a trade where you lose your heart, with all its beats.

She would look for opportunities to be near me. That was the extent of intimacy. Known for her simplicity, a girl of unparalleled goodness and sweet temper, Sheherzad was a ray of hope in hopelessness. For me, she was a beautiful mess, a colourful chaos, a creative confusion, a wishful wonder, a daring dream. It is a fact that young help the young with the logistics of love. She would, sometimes, address me as “baya” when someone known to us was around, just to avoid possible trouble. She was, perhaps, enjoying the feeling of being a soul-mate.

One cloudy day, I was little unwell and didn’t go to college. As clock ticked 4, I opened the window of my room, craned my........

© Greater Kashmir