The heart is a curious thing, capable of fluttering with excitement and pangs of pain. It's said that finding love with a broken heart is a daunting task.
Arpana Pathak, a 23-year-old college graduate, in a desperate attempt to move on, tries to fo...
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⁕ A r p a n a P a t h a k ⁕
(Theme Song of the Chapter :D)
S E P T E M B E R 2 0 1 7 ,
Slumping my forehead and nose against the cool glass window, I peered outside the classroom, feeling utterly bored and exhausted by the monotony of my days. Joshi was consumed by her studies, college life, and Vikrant. Well, on the other hand, Thakur was stuck in a loop of hitting the gym, playing cricket, and flirting with random girls.
My life felt drained of excitement without my friends. I needed new faces and fresh laughter—maybe a couple or three to brighten up my days.
My boring 'Risk and Insurance' elective class had already come to an end and everyone left quickly after the professor except me. Today's attendance was low, and even the professor seemed disinterested. He merely regurgitated the same old stuff he had covered countless times before.
I wasn't keen on heading home either. The afternoon sun was still high, and I could already picture Babita Aunty's house being messy with noisy neighbourhood kids running amok.
To be honest, I can't stand children. They're always sticky, unbearably loud, and seem to materialize out of thin air whenever I've got a headache; It's a wonder I haven't lost my mind and killed one yet.
I stashed my bag neatly, ensuring my books were arranged just so, and made my way to the library. It was my heaven; where I could escape unnoticed, filled with countless volumes to lose myself in. Plus, the air conditioning was a bonus. The lecture rooms had only fans for cooling.
The library was empty, as expected. And honestly, that was just fine by me. With everyone busy with preparations for the fresher's day, I knew I could enjoy the peace of the library all to myself.
Out beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing, there is a field. I'll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about.
I'd read Rumi's poem countless times, each time feeling its beauty and depth. His words were like a painting, capturing every shade of love, desire, pain, and longing. I often wondered about the woman who inspired such passionate verses. Did she realize the impact she had on him? Did she know the gift she gave the world by breaking his heart? Maybe we should thank her, for without her, Rumi might never have become the icon he is now.
I decided to borrow the book from the library so I could read it whenever I pleased. But no one was at the helpdesk. I headed downstairs to use the self-issuing book vending machine. Now, I wasn't a big fan of technology like Joshi was. I tried to figure it out for almost fifteen minutes, tapping different things on the menu displayed on the screen, but I couldn't find how to get the book issued.
