This is a story of a boy who is on the verge of teenage or rather 14 when he first falls in love. The girl is not the protagonist here. But after having a crush on a few more girls, he realizes that he is capable of loving not only girls but guys to...
I was saved by the art of poetry. I was dejected. The few remnants of love that I had were on the verge of extinction. But I had to keep it alive. Akash had done a lot for me.
He was the purest soul if I ever saw one. During Covid, he had helped a neighbour of ours go to and fro the hospital without fearing getting sick. And later that lady despised him coming to our colony due to some differences. But he never fought and always kept quiet. He had always lent a helping hand to everyone who asked for it. His personality was better than some of the richest celebrities. He was 12th pass. But his mentality and manners told me that he might be a doctorate in civil manners disguised as an Airtel employee. More embarrassed I was about not remembering the Airtel tune which was played as a question in the Quiz competition. He had helped me go to my tuition when my brother had not been there and I was a kid. The art of humbleness was to be learnt by him. If Andre Tate wants to preach about masculinity, he ought to have a look at my man here. He never disrespected anyone and I barely heard him curse.
I remember I was in 8th grade when he told me something that still echoes in my ears.
"Harshu. You are studious and you also play badminton really well. Keep it up. At least there will be someone who will get this small place on the map."
That was a line that reminded me that I was not only living my dreams but many other people's aspirations. The hopes did not feel like a burden. It felt like feathers helping me fly. I still remember when he told me that I play really well. I had no feelings for him then but I was on cloud nine. A 13-year-old is at the mercy of appreciation and Chrome.
It had been two months since I had started worshipping him. Every evening when I lit the worship place's lamp, I prayed for his safety. I had prayed for him to prosper. For the first time, I was worried about somebody else more than myself. I woke up and I saw his picture on my phone. I tried to look at the sky as much as I could. At every competition, I prayed to him. I was sitting in the library of a school for our Zonals Debate when I prayed to him. And I came first. He was my lucky charm. I left bits of my breakfast for my mom, brother and Akash, before eating as an offering to God to keep them happy. This was my obsession, this was how Amarsahara loved.
But how long? How long can somebody continue with one-sided love? Would I spend my life at the mercy of his smile? Leave my heartbeat with the sound of his Splendor? How long would I live on the maybe-he-is-looking-at-me and be happy? How long would I note down the colour of his shirt every day and when he repeated it, feel that he did that to impress me? Nope. I was not going to live a life of assumptions and feel sad when he would marry, wasting crucial years of my life.
He was a brother and nothing else. Like my friend, Srishti always said, "You have no future possible."
And so it was. There was no future possible. He was not gay.
But what about the poems I had written for him? I am forever thankful to him. He made me write some of the best poems of my life.
And I dedicate some of the last lines of my poem to him:
He handles me with ease,
Teasing me from under the trees,
Pushing me when I go out of bounds,
Then reassembling me in one piece.
He is the sky, in his arms, I lie.
Watching the clouds passing by,
He pulls me close when I am shy
I can't escape from him but I try
He kisses me when I wear his favourite dye,
He walks like a model,
Looks like he's got something to tell
He's got that calm refreshing smell,
Voice peaceful like the sound of a temple bell,
Commanding like the captain of the crew
Confusing like the morning mist, soothing like the morning dew
Like the coolest breeze that ever blew
An artist's brushstrokes filling in hues
My broken heart with his smiles he sews
With the whisper in my ear, "Kid. I love you."
And so this chapter came to an end. Akash diaries are closed. The 3 months of the journey ends in a betrayal. The truth was he had abused me. it was an accident. He had not seen who was behind and said things that could not be taken back. The arrow does not go back to the bow it escaped.
But my mind would be sewed with June. That warm summer day when I cried. Cried until my tears exhausted and my eyes opened.
I swore on that day. I WILL NOT FALL IN LOVE NOW. I AM SICK OF BEING UNREQUITED.
