THE DEVIL AND THE WALLPAPER |FINAL P.41|

Look through my gaze and you will see a different story.

The world surrounds you for your outer beauty.

But look at yourself through my eyes and you will your own reflection.

I stand apart from the world, awaiting and yearning for your attention.

If you glance forward and around, you will see the crowd mooning over you.

But if you just steal a quick glance over your shoulder, my lone figure will be standing behind you.

In anticipation, that one day you will see me.

The world surrounds you for your outer beauty.

But look through my eyes and you will see a different story.

Expressions of thoughts, reflections of memories, interpretations of meanings, and confessions of love were much more simpler when penned down on a blank sheet of paper. Writers, scholars, lyricists and dictators always relied upon text rather than vocal words. It was always less complex, to pen down feelings rather than to speak them out loud. But then again, that was her sorry excuse to avoid verbal confrontations and public speaking opportunities. Why must one be dependent on speech in order to be accepted by society? What of those unique individuals whom choose to rely on the power of text instead? Well there I go again, trying once again to explain why air headed females like Samira was more noticeable and popular than intelligent, quiet girls like me, Geet Handa.

One would seriously think that University would consist of more mature individuals whom no longer carried the high school mentality around. Alas, that theory was a definite myth. Welcome to Adult school, whereby social hierarchies still segregated popular and unpopular students. Basically, if you wore short skirts, hair and eyelash extensions and just walked in looking like you got gang banged by Crayola (100 layers of makeup) than you were socially respected and accepted. Other than physically looking like a hooker, your personality must require less intelligence and more bimbo-ness. Fortunately if you were not a girl, than the male requirements comprised of having hot athletic bodies, money, looks, looks and looks. A male model, so to speak, with no brain (if I may add).

And what of those other individuals whom still believed in the concept of natural and inner beauty? They were ignored, used as background wallpapers, never acknowledged, and stereotypically perceived as the library book worms. Sad reality of my life! I hide behind my spectacles and am forever indulging in my historical romance novels. But am I complaining? I think not. For I know that in 5 or so years from now, I'll be the one working in high tech offices, whilst the air headed trashes would be making a living in fast food cash registers.

A giggle escaped from the back of the room, further enhancing my foul mood. Samira's air-headed laughter continued to increase as she flirted with the boys like the typical brazen hussy she was. I smiled inwardly and quite evilly at the thought of walking towards Samira and attacking her face with face wipe. Oh the look on her face after having her true makeup-less face revealed to the world would be priceless.

'Samira' the tutor called out in a warningly tone, 'please concentrate on the lecture.' Samira rolled her eyes and completely ignored the useless teachers instructions. Obviously lacking the courage to confront her again, the teachers eyes roamed around the room, searching for an inferior quiet student to pick on. Sadly in this case, I was always the first one to capture the teachers attention. Joy.

'Geeta, I don't remember instructing the class to be writing anything' the teacher sneered, exercising his authoritative powers. Geet's eyes twitched in anger, why on earth was this teacher so hell bent in humiliating her in front of the damn class! If solely picking on her wasn't enough, the equally stupid teacher never seemed to get her name right. Is Geet so hard to pronounce? You'd think people would be relieved that my name was short and only a 4 letter word. But nope! Students and teachers were fond of adding extra alphabets, to extend my name. If only they executed their 'alphabet adding fascination' to their studies, then maybe their grades would have increased.

Shamefully, I was a keyboard and writing warrior, not a verbal one. So instead of speaking out my thoughts, and confronting the world, I managed to murmur my apologies for writing despite not being instructed to do so. Yeah yeah, I know what your thinking. Shame - on - ME! However, the blasted teacher was not done with me. Instead of accepting my apology and moving on with his sad life, he instead came walking towards me. Glancing a look from beneath my lashes, I swore mentally. The bald bas***d really had nothing better to do, than make my life more miserable. Was he getting paid to torture the intelligent and quiet students? I thought to myself in wonder.

'Well since you've raised my curiosity' the teacher began, 'will you allow me to kindly read what you have written?'

Why do teachers ask permission, when clearly everyone knows that they won't take 'no' for an answer. It was a rhetorical trick to confuse the students and give them hope, that they would have the freedom to say 'NO'. Obviously not waiting for my response, the teacher grabbed my book and stared at it for several seconds. I for one, was growing smaller and redder with each passing second. It was so tempting to just jump outside the one story window and save myself from the upcoming humiliation.

'My my my' the teacher commented out loud, chuckling as he spoke. 'We have ourselves a female Shakespeare in the class'. I blushed in horror as the class let out a humorous laugh. 'Such romantic words' the teacher teased, 'craving for a Valentine Geetakshi?' Geet mentally pictured herself playing drums upon his big fat bald head! What the hell was Geetakshi!? 'How bout I enlighten the class with your wonderful poems' the teacher threatened.

At that second, the door to the classroom opened, as the class went into complete silence. Shaking with embarrassment, I sneaked a look and immediately wished I hadn't. The king of the University, always royally late to class was currently standing in the doorway, looking as handsome and arrogant as ever. Shree Maan Singh Khurana, famously known as MK. I know that in the start, I consistently shared my hatred for the popular dumb students. But this one, was a definite exception. It wasn't his fault, he was purely gorgeous. Why should he be blamed? He was a product of his parents DNA, it's not like he 'tried' to look good everyday. It was simply genetic. And he oozed of money. I seriously think that his family business consisted of growing plants that spurted out money instead of vegetables. Having money wasn't his fault either. He was born with it, and one couldn't expect to escape from a rich household. Geet frowned in sympathy, surely he wished to escape everyday and make a living with his own hard working earned money. Surely he did! But that would break his poor grandmothers heart. And no one, I repeat, should ever hurt old people's feelings. Okay! Back to my hypocritical hypothesis of why Maan was an exception. He was also remarkably athletic. His hard muscled body and tanned glowing skin was there to prove it. But he didn't work out to show off, or to capture the female attention. Of course not. He had to exercise to maintain his health.

Yes this is me, once again, sadly trying to make excuses in order to ease my guilt of being a complete hypocrite. But one thing that was factual, was the fact that despite meeting the requirements of being the ideal popular guy, Maan had one thing, that all the other male specimens highly lacked. And that was, a 'brain'. MK was very smart, very rich, and very good looking. Every female that breathed the same air, swooned over him. Brain-less bimbo's like Samira was always the first one to line up behind him. And shamefully, I too harbored feelings for him in my heart. Although I didn't physically attack him with kisses, my imagination did. And despite not following him around like all the girls, I did however magically appear in every place that he happened to be in. Yes I'm a stalker. Embarrassing isn't it? And since I'm revealing so much to you, it wouldn't hurt to inform you that I have his Facebook link memorized and that I look at his page everyday, wishing that I had the courage to press the 'add as a friend' button. Oh and I'll just mention, that whenever I get friend requests, my heart does a double take and my stomach swarms with butterflies. Reason being?? I have this terrible Cinderella hope that the friend request would end up being from him. Ah, I'm a shame to womankind. To think that I actually consider myself as a feminist. Joke of the year, I tell you. With one snap of his finger, all feminist and equality thoughts would be forgotten, and I'd instantly crawl to him with a sandwich in my hand. Ah ha, I'm going to far. I can already see that you folks dislike me.

So, in conclusion. I was irrevocably and unconditionally in love with him for the passed two years. And King Maan Singh Khurana had no idea that I existed. He walked passed me in corridors, without even slanting a single glance at me. Basically, If I stood before him, clad in a tantalizing swim suit, he would still glance passed me.

'Late again Mr Khurana?' the teacher commented in disapproval. Maan simply shrug his broad shoulders carelessly and sat at the back of the room, diagonally across from me. I didn't dare to look at him. So instead, I managed to continue looking down at my empty desk, praying that the interruption would make the teacher forget about reading my poem. I guess not.

'So where was I' the teacher stated, 'oh yes, I was just about to read out Geetanjali's romantic poem'. I moaned silently. If he was going to acknowledge my existence before Maan, couldn't he at least pronounce my name properly!

The beauty of my nights and days is from you.

I vow upon my life, my life is because of you.

You alone are my eyes on these empty, lonely roads.

No matter how much distance there is, you are in my arms.

But come in such a way that from here, you will not go again.

When the night dims sometime.

When the moon blossoms sometime.

When the night dims sometime, come into my heart.

When the moon blossoms sometime, come into my heart.

The beauty of my nights and days is from you.

I vow upon my life, my life is because of you.

Unable to take the humiliation any longer, I stood up, head lowered and ran from the room. I was oblivious to the one gaze that lingered upon my figure and followed my every move as I escaped from suffocating room. Had I the courage to look over my shoulder, I would have realized that amongst the crowd of the class, there was one person who did care.

Breathing deeply, I continued running down the empty corridors, afraid to hear their laughter. Eventually I came to a stop before my locker, as I placed my head upon the metal locker and groaned in exasperation. 'I'm so stupid' I muttered as I softly banged my head frustratingly on the locker. It seemed as if eternity had passed, as I stood in the empty hallway, cursing mankind. As per my awful luck, I was still banging my head when I felt a presence lingering behind me. I instantly stilled myself, in fear that someone would interpret my actions as to being an act of a mental patient, rather than a frustrated student.

'You forgot your book' a masculine deep voice murmured. A chill ran down my spine as I stiffened upon hearing his voice. Gulping down my saliva, I hesitantly turned around and almost fainted drop dead at the sight before me. Unfortunately I had no diabetes, nor an empty stomach, or any fainting disabilities that would give me the permission to collapse on the ground and never wake up again. Maan raised his eyebrows as he stared at the slightly red mark on my forehead. 'I'd suggest hitting your head on something softer, next time. A pillow perhaps?'

Kill me, kill me, kill me! He just TALKED TO ME! 'uh I'm q-quite comfortable with the locker, thanks' I stuttered.

Maan's eyebrows shot up, 'I see' he mused.

Unable to form any other words, I hesitantly grabbed my book from his offered hand and tried to move my paralyzed legs into escaping from his attention. Unfortunately, my leg refused to function, since I was currently brain dead. The only organ that was active was my heart, and boy was it beating like a fat man sweating! Since my leg refused to cooperate, I turned my head away from him, and prayed that he would just go away.

After staring intensely at me for several seconds, he turned away and commenced walking in the opposite direction. I breathed a sigh of relief, and urged myself to walk away. I was in the midst of raising my leaden legs, when I heard his voice again.

'By the way' he broke the silence, 'nice poem Geetanjali'.

Geet nodded her head and began walking as fast as she could. If she had any guts, she would have whirled around and kindly informed him that her name was Geet not Geetanjali. But the fear of humiliating herself in front of him was to much to bear. In her hurry to escape, Geet realized that something dropped from inside her book. With an impatient sigh, she bent down to retrieve whatever had fallen, only to stop midway. Her golden eyes widened in astonishment as she stared at the single red rose, lying on the tiled floor. Her heart missed a beat as she picked up the rose and stared at it in pure amazement. 'Who had put this in her book?' She thought to herself in utter confusion. Darting a look over her shoulder, Geet noticed that Maan was still standing in the same place, with a ghost of a smile playing upon his lips.

Maan turned around, smiling inwardly at her reaction and began to walk off. 'Happy Valentines Day Geet' he whispered to himself, as he placed the torn piece of paper in his pocket. She would soon realize that a page in her book was missing, a specific page that consisted of today's heartfelt poem.

Originally posted by: dkmystery

OMG!!! super duper hit 👏
u better continue.... or I'll send the police to arrest ur Arira Shakti 🤣

n oh yes, IBC strikes again 🤣🤣🤣

Originally posted by: _SiinnceMaan_

LMFAOOOOOOOOOOO! How is it that you strike so FAST? 🤣 It's as if your sitting on the computer, prepared to strike and attack! 🤣🤗

Oh please don't take Arira Shakti away from me. His my only Valentine! 🤣

Originally posted by: -afsha-

That was awesum

I wanst really lyking Geet for not at all speaking for her self

She is really hell quite n scared of evryone

Loved her poem

Her defination to all gals n boys was fab😆😆😆

She is really awesum

I hate that sir culdnt he jus remember her 4 letter name GEET

Maan she was head over heels in love wit Maan

Maan did observe her

He was the one to keep that rose

I wish his whisper was heard by Geet

I really want 2nd part of this OS

Maan's feelings

Plzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I knw im demanding more but plzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Can v get 2nd part