How would your story begin ?

Of all the things that seem weird to me, friendship tops the list. It's the most beautiful and confusing feeling I've ever experienced and I realized that when I traced my steps back in time. 6 years, if I'd have to guess. School friends are the best I've heard and I couldn't agree more. I am not very good when it comes to talking to people or making friends. However, the stars desperately wanted us to talk to each other that day I guess.

So here's how it all started. I won't be starting my so called narrative with the cliched 'One fine day'.

The one thing I had noticed about students who had opted for Biology was that they didn't believe in the concept of no class or games or relaxing and she was no different. A pretty girl, who might seem shy to you at first glance, who had pinned her black baby clips not to her hair but to the sleeves of her school uniform and had a black rubber band wrapped around two of her middle fingers, had her nose immersed in the book in hand. I don't know why but I decided to go and sit beside her. She looked up from her book and said 'Hi' with such a welcoming smile that anybody would be a fool not to smile back. The two letter word got the ball rolling and we started talking and somewhere deep down we both knew that this was the beginning of a new journey.

It's been roughly 6 years since that particular day and I am glad to say that the pretty girl who seemed shy to me is what one would call the opposite of shy. You meet a lot of people as you grow up and I am not the sort of person who lets anybody and everybody knock on their door, let alone invite them inside. People may mistake it for rudeness, but she did not. What's surprising is she didn't even have to knock, she managed to sneak in somehow and find a cozy little spot for her.

I can probably go on forever babbling about why I think we clicked the moment we met. But I'd give the majority of the credit to coffee and novels. Of course there are tons of other little things that managed to tug the strings of our heart.Unicorns and Pandas and Bunnies and Dolphins are few of the many quirky likes we share. People would say we're crazy, I wouldn't go so far though; I'd say we dance to the same tune. Knowing me and being friends with me and sticking around with me through thick & thin are three different circles and she fits perfectly in the part where the three of them intersect. She might not understand half the stuff I babble most of the times but I'll still call her when I want to vent out whatever's been bothering me. And it's a two way street. We don't agree on a lot of matters but we have never had the time to look too deep into it. There's not a single quality about her that I'd like to be any different than it is now, especially the ones that annoy me. I guess she'd say the same about me.There are times when we don't get to talk to each other for a couple of days and it's really annoying but there's nothing we can do to help it. That comes with the growing up package.

"Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.Delicious Ambiguity." - this is something I read today and I relate this to us. We are like the poem that rhymes for a while but then looses track somewhere in the middle and there are no rhyming words. We're like the parts of the story which not everyone would understand and even if they do it would probably seem to them that the parts are not in order.

 All things said and done, if I am given a blank new book and asked how my story would begin, I'd always go and sit beside the pretty girl who had clipped the black baby clips not to her hair but to the sleeves of her uniform, over and over again.

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22 crumpled whites.

Have you ever nibbled at the tip of your pencil?
Scribbling something on the white sheet of paper,
And then rolling it in a ball and tossing it on the floor because it was too facile.
Her room was filled with crumpled balls of whites,
She had been tossing them around since dawn,
Losing count after crumpling the 21st paper, she was now playing with her fairy lights.
Sanguine this moment and gloomy the next;
She was pretty much used to incoherence in her thoughts,
Ruminating over all of them at once however, was putting her patience at test.
Of the 20 papers, all of them hurled at the feet of her bed;
One of them was an attempt to put a date into words,
And another was to thank him for the message for it was the sweetest thing one could have said.
She vaguely remembered having written a few words about her mother;
And about her new friend, for whom writing was a reflex,
And probably about the trees, wanting to play with her as she sat in her balcony, admiring the weather.
About to heave the 22nd paper ball over her head;
She noticed something very strange had happened,
The 21 pieces of waste were no longer spread all over but curled up in a corner of her room instead.
It was as if they were talking to each other;
Leaning a bit closer she heard the colons and braces coming together,
They were celebrating something – it didn’t require a great insight to know that they were mocking her.
The letters coalesced into sentences long and short;
“Writer’s block maybe,” one of them read,
She added the 22nd guest to their little party with such a force that it caused their little parody to abort.
A few things were set into perspective now, while a few were not;
The black of her pencil flowed across the sheet so white,
The 23rd guest wasn’t invited to the 22’s merriment – probably because it had less of semicolons and more of dots.

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