A pretty boy once walked up to me and said, “I have a song to sing.”
He was holding a Gibson guitar and his fingers looked nice and tapering on the guitar frets as he held it at the neck.
“What song is it?” I asked.
“When you say nothing at all,” he replied.
He settled down beside me on the threshold of class XII Arts and gently, his music started taking shape. It reminded me of green vales and clear blue skies reflected on crystal clear waters. It reminded me of a certain blue eyed boy…
His voice was silken smooth. It reminded me of clouds and rain.
He finished and took a bow. I smiled and clapped.
“That song was for you,” he said.
“Sweet!” I said, and smiled again.
He smiled back at me, bowed again and walked off to the setting sun.
He was the first boy who had attempted to serenade me with lyrics and music while I listened on in absolute oblivion.
The last time I heard, he was in medical school. I don’t remember what he looked like. I don’t remember his name. But I just remember his music and his unreciprocated affection.
Some things are never meant to happen. This was one of them.