A new friend

4 years ago

Mikky

@MidnightLibrary

More the days pass I had gradually become more and more captivated by the girl who was still unaware of the fact that someone is always there for her ,only for her,every minutes and seconds.Now I couldn't ignore the truth which my heart has already known from the beginning since the day I had seen her “I am in love with Sanyogita”.Yes you get me right “I am feeling like to reach at the top of the world to speak loudly That I am in Love,the pitch will be so high that it can be reach beyond the universe”.

It sounds crazy,I haven't even talked to her till now.It’s only been a few weeks that I saw her,Though she is still unaware of it.But does that really matter?I don't know if she has a boyfriend or not.I hope not.Please God,let her be single because if any case she is not then I don't know what shall I do then.

I was en route to a party hosted by friends, but fate had other plans. As I turned a corner, I spotted Sanyogita again, and my heart skipped a beat. Without hesitation, I changed my plans and followed her, a routine I'd grown accustomed to.

She led me to a quaint bookstore, its shelves stacked with literary treasures. I trailed behind, careful not to draw attention. As she browsed through the aisles, I slipped inside, selecting a book to conceal my face while keeping her in my sights.

Little did I know, my choice of reading material would soon become my undoing. I held the book up, pretending to be engrossed, but my gaze remained fixed on Sanyogita. She seemed oblivious to my presence, until...

Her eyes suddenly locked onto mine, and her expression transformed into one of disgust. "Chiii!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with abhorrence. I felt a surge of panic as she hastily exited the store.

My eyes followed her departure, but as I glanced down at the book in my hand, my face flushed with embarrassment. "Oh! Shit," I cursed under my breath. In my haste, I'd grabbed a nude girls magazine, its cover now staring back at me like a guilty verdict.

I quickly hid the magazine behind a nearby shelf, my heart racing with embarrassment. How could I be so careless? I chided myself, feeling like a teenager caught red-handed.

I waited for a few minutes, ensuring Sanyogita was gone, before making a hasty exit. As I stepped out of the bookstore, I couldn't shake off the feeling of humiliation. What if she had seen my face? What if she knew I was following her?

I walked briskly, trying to clear my head, but my mind kept wandering back to Sanyogita. Why did I have to go and pick up that magazine? I berated myself, feeling like a fool.

As I turned a corner, I spotted her walking ahead, her long hair swaying with each step. I slowed down, careful not to be seen, but my eyes remained fixed on her.

Suddenly, she stopped and turned around, her eyes scanning the crowd. I froze, thinking I'd been caught, but her gaze swept past me, and she continued on her way.

I let out a sigh of relief, but my heart still raced with excitement. What was I getting myself into? I wondered, feeling like a lovesick puppy.

I continued to follow her, my senses heightened, as I tried to make sense of my emotions. Was I really falling for her? And what would happen if she discovered my secret?

Another day, another chance encounter. I was circling the block, searching for a parking spot, when I spotted her standing at a bus stop. I quickly grabbed an empty slot and followed her onto the crowded local bus. The sea of faces blurred together as I pushed my way through the throng, my eyes fixed on her.

The bus was a microcosm of Mumbai's chaos, with bodies packed like sardines, each facing a testament to the city's diverse population. I had heard stories about the city's crowds, but nothing compared to experiencing it firsthand.

As I inched closer, I noticed she was engaged in an animated conversation with a girl, their laughter and smiles suggesting a deep friendship. They seemed lost in their own world, oblivious to the commotion around them.

I continued to observe from a distance, fascinated by the way they connected, their bond palpable even in the midst of the chaotic bus. The girl's eyes sparkled as Sanyogita shared a story, her face lighting up with amusement.

Fury flashed in her eyes as she spun around, her hand connecting with my face in a stinging slap. I recoiled, flabbergasted, as she unleashed a torrent of indignation.

"How dare you touch me, you nonsense! You're trying to misbehave with me on the bus, you scoundrel!" she yelled, her voice echoing through the crowded vehicle.

I stood frozen, unable to defend myself as bystanders rushed to her aid, their fists flying in my direction. I wanted to protest, to tell her she had misunderstood, but the words caught in my throat.

"Sanyogita, I wasn't... I swear, I didn't mean to," I tried to say, but my voice was drowned out by the commotion.

Meanwhile, a pervert, who had been ogling Sanyogita throughout the bus ride, had been trying to touch her with malicious intent. But in the chaos, Sanyogita's slap had mistakenly landed on me, not the true culprit.

The blows kept coming, each one landing with precision, until I stumbled backward, shielding my face with my hands. The bus erupted into chaos, passengers shouting and trying to intervene.

Sanyogita's eyes blazed with anger, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. "Get out! Get out of the bus!" she screamed, her voice hoarse from yelling.

I stumbled toward the door, the crowd parting as I passed. As I stepped off the bus, the doors closed behind me, and the vehicle sped away, leaving me reeling on the sidewalk.

I stood there, trying to process what had just happened. Sanyogita's slap still stung, but it was nothing compared to the pain of her misdirected anger.

I couldn't help but wonder what had led her to think I was a pervert. Had I unknowingly given her a reason to believe that? The questions swirled in my mind like a vortex, leaving me dazed and confused.

As I walked away from the bus stop, I noticed a figure watching me from across the street. It was the pervert from the bus, a sly grin spreading across his face. I felt a surge of anger, but he vanished into the crowd before I could confront him.

The rest of the day, I brooded in silence, my anger simmering like a pot left unattended on a stove. I couldn't shake off the sting of Sanyogita's slap, or the hurtful words she'd hurled at me. Every time I thought about it, my blood boiled anew.

The next day, I spotted her again, standing on the balcony of the academic building, her gaze lost in the distance. I quickly averted my eyes, still nursing my wounded pride. I couldn't bear the thought of looking at her, let alone talking to her.

In class, my friends sensed my dark mood and kept their distance. They knew better than to trifle with me when I was in a rage. I sat at my desk, my eyes fixed on the floor, my mind seething with resentment.

As the lecturer droned on, I shredded a page from my notebook, the sound of tearing paper echoing through the silent classroom. I crumpled the paper into a ball and hurled it out the window, watching as it soared through the air, a tiny, insignificant thing, much like my own bruised ego.

The paper ball sailed through the air, a tiny missile of frustration, before landing with a soft flutter on the grass outside. I watched it fall, feeling a sense of emptiness wash over me.

The lecturer's voice droned on, but I tuned it out, my mind still fixated on Sanyogita. Why had she jumped to conclusions? Why had she slapped me?

I couldn't concentrate on the lesson, my thoughts consumed by the encounter. I felt like I was stuck in a never-ending cycle of anger and hurt.

As the class drew to a close, I gathered my belongings and filed out of the room, my eyes scanning the hallway for a glimpse of Sanyogita. But she was nowhere to be found.

I trudged through the rest of the day, my feet heavy with emotion. I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd been wronged, that Sanyogita owed me an apology.

Little did I know, our story was far from over. The tangled threads of our encounter would continue to weave together, leading us down a path of unexpected twists and turns.

A few days later, I found myself at our college function, reluctantly seated in the auditorium hall. The student performances were dragging on, and I was itching to escape. But then, I saw her. Sanyogita. Under the spotlight, she transformed into a captivating vision, a beautiful fairy in a simple yet elegant white lehenga choli, complemented by a flowing dupatta draped over her shoulder. Her slick, shining hair cascaded down her back like a river of moonlight, and her glossy lips sparkled with a hint of pink lipstick. Long earrings danced around her neck, and her sparkling eyes shone like diamonds, accentuated by a subtle touch of kajal.

As she took the stage, I felt a pang of possessiveness. I didn't want anyone else to gaze at her, to admire her beauty. She was mine to look at, mine alone.

It bothered me when other guys would say things like, "She looks fantastic." I wanted to be the only man to look at her, no other men allowed.

And then, she began to sing. Her voice soared through the auditorium, a melodious serenade that left me entranced. But what happened next left me stunned. The song she sang was the exact same one I had written for her, the one I had torn up and discarded. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. "How did she get this?" I wondered, my mind racing with questions.

... 🎵🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶

I was taken aback, my mind reeling with questions. How did she get her hands on my song? I thrown it away, hadn't I? Or had I just thought I did? The memory of that day came flooding back, and I recalled the page flying out of the window. Could she have found it?

As Sanyogita's voice soared through the final notes of the song, the audience erupted into applause. I joined in, my hands clapping mechanically as my brain struggled to process what I had just heard.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with triumph, and I felt a pang of pride. She had taken my song, my words, and made them her own. And she had done it beautifully.

As the anchor approached her to express gratitude for the enchanting performance, Sanyogita's eyes sparkled with humility. "It wasn't my song," she revealed, her voice like a gentle breeze. "I found it on a page that fell from a window in our college a few days ago. I'm not sure who wrote it or who it was intended for, but I felt compelled to share it with all of you."

Her gaze drifted across the audience, as if searching for the unknown author. "If it was written for someone, I apologize for intruding on your private emotions. But if it was penned in anger or disappointment, I'd like to offer a message on behalf of the writer."

Her words dripped with sincerity, like honey pouring from a jar. "If you're genuine, truthful, and willing to brave any storm to prove your love, you'll undoubtedly win the heart of your beloved. I pray to God for your reunion, for love to conquer all."

Her words pierced my heart like a tender arrow, but it wasn't vengeance that drove them – it was love. My love. The love I had tried to express through my song, now echoing back to me through Sanyogita's lips.

As Sanyogita hurried away, I felt a pang of disappointment wash over me. I had been so close to finally speaking with her, but she was already disappearing into the crowd. I sighed, feeling like fate was conspiring against me.

But then, my eyes landed on a glint of gold on the ground. An earring, delicate and intricate, lay abandoned where Sanyogita had stood. I knew instantly that it belonged to her. Without thinking, I picked it up, my fingers closing around it like a treasured possession.

I brought the earring to my lips, planting a tender kiss on its surface. It was a silly gesture, but I felt a connection to her through this small, lost thing.

I finally summoned the courage to approach Sanyogita, my heart racing with anticipation. It was a typical day at college, with students milling about, chatting and laughing, but my focus was solely on her. I had been putting off this conversation for far too long, fearing her reaction after the bus incident.

As I walked towards her, I couldn't help but think about what I had learned from our mutual friend, Risav. He had been Sanyogita's senior at her previous school, and I had sought him out to learn more about her. Risav had shared a devastating truth about Sanyogita's past, one that had left me reeling.

Sanyogita's father had passed away from a heart attack on the same night he discovered his elder daughter's lifeless body, hanging from a rope in her bedroom. The tragedy was compounded by the fact that her sister had been driven to suicide by a rich family's spoilt son, who had blackmailed and exploited her for his own twisted desires.

No wonder Sanyogita harbored such intense hatred towards wealthy individuals and their sons. The pain and trauma she had endured was unimaginable. I felt a deep sense of empathy and understanding for her, and my heart went out to her.

My mind was consumed by Sanyogita's story, and I couldn't shake off the feeling of bewilderment. Her animosity towards wealthy individuals and their sons was understandable, given the tragedy she had faced. But it also made me realize that my own identity could be a barrier between us. I was, after all, a son of a wealthy businessman, with a net worth of twenty-eight thousand.

The thought sent a pang of anxiety through me. I couldn't let Sanyogita know about my wealth status, not yet. I needed to find a way to approach her, to make her see me for who I truly was, beyond my family's wealth. But how?

As I pondered this, I realized that my feelings for Sanyogita went beyond mere infatuation. I loved her, deeply and intensely. She was the one I wanted to be with, the one I wanted to protect and care for. And I knew, with absolute certainty, that she was meant to be mine.

I felt a surge of determination and courage. I would find a way to win her heart, to make her see beyond my wealth and family status. I would be patient, kind, and understanding. I would show her that I was different, that I wasn't like the others who had hurt her.

With this resolve, I set out to approach Sanyogita, my heart filled with hope and my mind filled with strategies. I would make her mine, no matter what it took.

Meanwhile, I learned that a boy named Vicky, one of my only rivals in college, had ragged Sanyogita.When he attempted to misbehave with her, she slapped him forcefully across the face in protest.Vicky broke a priceless glass piece, and I detested seeing tears in her eyes.I had a fight with Vicky that day, after a long time apart, and my blood was boiling inside.I repeatedly struck him in the face and stomach with punches.Even though he hit me back, it did not lessen my rage.

After a few days, I was standing outside Sanyogita's house, waiting for her to arrive.When I saw her approaching, I called a little boy to deliver these gifts—wrapped in paper—along with the latter.In exchange for a chocolate, the boy gave it to her.

Sanyogita enquired, "What is that?"

“Ek bhaiya ne diya ("A brother gave it!") !” after that he ran away. I hid myself behind a tree.

Sanyogita opened the letter in confusion.

The letters

””Hello Sanyogita,

Tum mujhe nahi janti,mein bas tumse itna kehna chahta hoon jo ladki dusro ke chaihrepe muskaan lane ke liye itna kuch karsakti hai Uski aankhon mein aansoo ache nahi lagte.In masoom se chehre pe agar udasi aye toh pore duniya mei udasi cha jayegi.Mein tume ek pyarisi smiley ke saath ei white glass crystal showpiece de raha hoon.Mein janta hoon yai pehle wale ko replace toh nahi karsakta ,,magar phir bhi ,I hope so ki tumhe yai acha lage.

(You do not know me, but I just wanted to let you know that the girl who can make people smile so much does not look good with tears in her eyes.There will be sorrow throughout the entire world if these helpless faces are devoid of happiness.I am giving it to you: a showpiece made of white glass crystal with a cute smiley.Though I know it can not take the place of the first one, I still hope you like it.)

tumhara Naya dost

(Your New Friend)

A charming smile blossomed on Sanyogita's lips as she unwrapped the paper to reveal an exquisite white glass crystal ball. Inside, a delicate figurine of a sweet little girl sat on a tiny swinging cot, her face radiating joy. The intricate details of the figurine and the crystal ball sparkled in the light, captivating Sanyogita's attention.

She took the crystal ball to her room, her fingers tracing the smooth surface as she admired it. As she opened her wardrobe to place the gift on a shelf, a page suddenly slipped out from between her clothes and fell on her leg. She picked it up, noticing that the handwriting on the page was eerily similar to the letters she had received.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she realized the connection. The same person who had written the heartfelt letters had also sent her the beautiful crystal ball. She felt a shiver run down her spine as she wondered who this mysterious person could be.

Sanyogita's mind raced with questions as she examined the page and the letters again. The handwriting, the language, the emotions expressed - everything was identical. She was taken aback, her heart beating faster with excitement and curiosity.

Sanyogita's eyes scanned the page, searching for any clues that might reveal the identity of the mysterious person. As she read the words again, she felt a deep connection to the emotions expressed. It was as if the writer had seen into her soul and understood her deepest feelings.

She looked around her room, feeling a sense of wonder and excitement. Who could be writing her these beautiful letters and sending her such thoughtful gifts? And why were they choosing to remain anonymous?

As she pondered these questions, Sanyogita's thoughts turned to the confrontation with Vicky. She had been so upset and hurt by his behavior, but the letters and gifts had brought a sense of comfort and peace. It was as if the writer knew exactly what she needed to hear and feel.

With a newfound sense of determination, Sanyogita decided to find out who was behind the letters and gifts. She felt a sense of excitement and anticipation, wondering what she might discover.