Chapter 4: The Hormonal Anxiety

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“”” Dard bhara dil main itna ki likhte waqt rone ko dil karta hai. “””
 
That night I didn’t sleep at all. It was the first time in my life I have ever had that feeling. It made me so restless that my sleep hormones switched jobs illuminating the brain with the divine glow of her beauty. I felt loved by lust as those elegant curves which my eyes captured never to forget were running in my head. Sleep made a deal with my hormones and not only made me think about her but what she would be thinking about me.

 
My mind was full of jumbled thread of questions one popping after another; was I a jerk to run behind, should I be imagining her in that particular way, or she already expected that while coming back from the bike ride, will she be thinking about me remembering my face running behind, will she be cuddling with the pillow thinking about me, grrrr… or will she be furious. My imagination had no boundaries, one moment I was replacing my pillow with her and other I’d see her furious face.

 
When various hormonal outburst happens every passing second bringing all sorts of weird feelings of being loved or being hated. A moment of fear gets converted into a romantic tight big bear hug and again into hatred. It was already so tough for me to stop thinking about her when something vibrated. Yes, I am talking about my cell phone, this little thing which I always keep on silent mode when at home, else ‘Mogambo ko gussa aa jayega’.

 
Msg: ‘Hey, what happened to you today.’
[And that was one of those moments when fingers automatically, in an instant sends the reply: ]
Me: ‘Love’
Next moment in the middle of the night I screamed ‘Shitttt…’

 
My hands were literally shaking and I was checking my phone every 60 seconds. I wanted to reach the college as soon as possible. I checked the time it was 2 a.m. and I check it again it was 2:01 a.m. when every 5 minutes seems a year.

Wait wait wait never ending wait …. yet no reply.

I stayed up the whole night and slept only for about an hour from 6-7 a.m. Some mornings are shocking for your mother when you do not hear what she says and leave home hours before time.

 

I reached college early only to avoid having an eye contact with her and went straight to the last bench to sit, the trouble time begins; waiting for her [rolling and tearing papers]. Shivering inside somewhere about what to do, I had no clue how she would react on not so mature instant kiddish (at least I feel so at present) reply. A little scared and a little hopeful.

At last, she entered… [To be continued…]

 

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