Class 6.
Coimbatore.
Same School. Same Class.
Coincidence? I doubt it.
Science class.
Chapter 10.
The Human Body.
Eyes. You had the prettiest.
Hands. I wanted to hold yours.
Heart. You bloody stole mine.
Maths Class.
I was fond of numbers.
My roll number was 4.
Yours 16. 4 square 16.
Coincidence? No!
I was pretty sure
we were a match made in heaven.
My school memories are not so vivid
but there are just too many to forget.
The first time I saw you walk in
I was on one corner of the room.
The bob cut suited you so well.
The first time you smiled. At me.
(Well, I’d like to think so.)
And that dimple on your cheek.
The first time I touched your hands.
(Un)intentionally
And my life felt complete.
The first time I heard your name.
I rehearsed it so perfectly
My lips broke apart for the syllable ‘Ma’,
followed by a smooth transition at ‘hi’ and
they met again only to depart for the ‘ma’.
‘MAHIMA.’
but all in the absence of sound.
When our class teacher wanted
to pair guys and girls
for the new seating arrangement,
I was secretly hoping for a coincidence.
I just wanted to sit right next to you.
And dream about you.
No kisses. No conversations.
I was too young for all that.
I just wanted to marry you.
Oh dear!
We would have been just perfect.
It was meant to be pure and eternal
Like the waves of a resilient ocean.
Like the birth of a sunrise everyday.
Like the petrichor of post-rain woods.
And we sat on the same row
but different columns
On the same side
but with different partners.
Coincidence? You bet.
I thought I’d lost you.
I had to leave the class, the school
and the city at the end of the year.
Fate had to play with my life.
Chennai.
Trivandrum.
Bangalore.
Mumbai.
Delhi.
Chandigarh.
Never found you ever since.
In all the places I’ve stayed
And all the cities I’ve traveled to.
15 years hence.
A lot many crushes.
A few love stories.
Not quite the same feeling.
First love is always special.
Clichéd.
Maybe not the one-sided love stories.
Maybe not the first heart breaks.
It is funny how in a connected world
We haven’t connected yet.
I’ve searched for you everywhere.
Facebook.
Instagram.
Quora.
You name it.
Mahima Gupta?
Mahima Chaudhary?
Mahima Jain?
What is your bloody second name?
Mahima Arvind?
Coincidence? I fucking hope not.
Argh! This sucks. It irks me.
Not as much as the time when
I saw you holding hands
with another guy during the P.T period.
It was my favorite period
yet my heart broke, my blood boiled
and I hated it so much that day.
Or when you took a friday off from school
and nature betrayed me.
I thought all weekends were the same.
I was bloody wrong. Some are longer.
And that was the longest ever.
Jealous? Insecure? Impatient?
Don’t blame me.
I was just 10 fucking years old.
In the land of broken promises
and lost dreams,
I now hope a coincidence strikes
amidst a colossal stroke of luck
and I find you.
Maybe it won’t be the same.
Maybe you’re married.
Maybe I want to keep searching forever.
It doesn’t matter.
All I’m looking for is a coincidence.
Just once.
