โ€‹

To the boy who loves the sun,

“Hey stranger, do you have stories to share?”, I ask him, to the boy sitting far away where my voices won’t reach. I am sitting here in the library, bored by the normalcy of my life, having the same old bulky books, handouts and notes by my side and my constantly wondering and nagging mind. In this cold winter, it feels cold from the outside and the inside. I look across through the glass window in front of me and there up in the balcony, there he is, “the stranger”.

This is not the first time I have seen him. He has always been there. He seems an ordinary guy. But then, who can actually tell? Each day, I can recall, he sits there, in that plastic chair with his feet on the railing of the balcony, his back facing the rays of the warm sun and his eyes scanning through the pages of his bulky medicine books. From down here, right now, I am not sure why, he is the only character that seems to have my attention.

Most of the time I see him still. Undisturbed, unmoved, unharmed by the frequent changes around his surrounding. The constant passing by of girls behind him, chatting about love and crushes, the junior boys grouping behind to talk of games and movies and his few classmates beside, commenting about the teacher’s dress up, he hardly seems to pay any attention. 

I look at him and I see some kind of a canvas, whose colors are so vibrant, elegant and eye catching that they often deviate me from the actual truth or the beauty behind it. I get myself lost too easily.

“He must be a definite introvert”, I say to myself. Or just a shy guy, who is outspoken only when he is with his closest of friends. “What are you?”, I would like to ask him one day. “Broken soul? or lost love? Or have you shielded yourself too much from the external world? Or are you trying to fit in too? Whatever it is, you have my ears.” Because I believe all that lies behind the curtains of his expressionless face needs to see some light. Looking at him, I feel nostalgic. He seems like someone I have known, someone I have missed. I am not sure who it is, though.

I don’t know what he is like, to talk to. What he loves talking about? I have seen him with his friends and usually he prefers staying silent. I actually don’t even know his name. So, may be it was pretty much a dumb idea to write about a character about whom you know basically nothing about and solely basing it on your visual plus hearing instincts. Well, I have always loved mysteries. Finding about him wouldn’t have been much hard, in fact just few clicks away. But that would probably mean shattering the beauty of that mystery.

The feeling of wanting to come back for more, to hold on to whatever little knowledge you have and to hang on to it makes mysteries special and interesting in their way.

So, stalking him on social media was out of question. A name wouldn’t matter anyway. I would like to leave the part of unveiling of what’s hidden to the time that has been conspiring all this while. I prefer to wait for that perfect time. And I have a strong gut feeling that it is arriving soon. And at that moment, I wish to have the perfect expressions; the unrehearsed, unfaked ones!!

So, may be someday soon enough, I would go up to him. Spontaneously. Pat him gently on his shoulder to let him turn around, change his focus from his book, finally into me and to ask, “Hey stranger, don’t you have stories to share?”

P.S. Would have been nice if I could tag or send a link to the person behind this writing! Someday, for sure!

Advertisements