Mr.NoteWriter
A few years before the Wedding:
As I picked up my books from the floor, I noticed a small white piece of paper fall through from one of the pages of my lab record. I was juggling her books, the observation, record books, a pouch carrying her various pencils, pens and everything else that makes up a girl’s pouch, and at the same time opening the door of the computer lab. Shockingly enough I ended up dropping almost everything I was carrying.
Being someone who wrote dozens of notes all the time, I did not bother to open the note .I just arranged everything in order, took the paper and a second to decide where the note should go. I then carelessly opened a random page in the book and stuffed the note in there.
As I got up, I picked up my duppatta that had spent some quality time romancing the floor, wrapped it around my neck in a way that accentuated my figure. The duppatta as cumbersome as it maybe could be a valuable accessory, often beautifying the person wearing it depending on the way it is worn. Carelessly wrapped around makes the girl look easy and affable, worn a tad tightly on the neck projects her body just as the way a girl wants it to be. Worn in properly folded wraps and pinned to her kurta makes a statement “Caution: Miss Goody Two Shoes Zone”.
I walked to her class room and started packing her books in to her bag preparing to leave college and catch my bus home. That was when my record book for the second time carefully slid through the slant table and fell down. The note as though programmed to fall out every time, popped its head up. I was exasperated and took the record book from the floor this time noticing the paper note again. Judging this to be some kind of sign and mostly overcome by curiosity I opened the note.
“Bus number 23 @ 4:30?
That was the entire note said. I did not quite understand it. It was not even signed. Not being one for adventure, I tossed the note away, packed the remainder of my belongings making a mental note to clean my bag and get rid of the all the trash that I saved for no apparent reason. I walked out of my classroom and joined the rest of my classmates as they made the ceremonial walk towards their respective buses home.
“So, the classes were absolutely uninteresting today, I wish we had more time to just sit and chat” said Brindha as she aimlessly swung her bag back and forth.
“You just explained 5 days of our week; nevertheless, whatever took you so long Asha. We were both done with our labs much before you were.” asked Disha.
“Oh well, you know, I ran in to some issues with my code” I replied immediately repenting making the statement.
“Ahhh! This is why one is to never write their own code, why you can’t just write it off from someone else. Who is the guy who sits next to you? Anand?”
“Yes, he does. Ok, you guys wander and make me forget. Guess what? Someone put some note in my record note.”I said steering clear from the “who-writes-their-own-code conversation.
“Whoop! Note? What kind of note?” asked Disha with intonations that were only possible when in college.
“I have no clue; all it said was Bus number 23 at 4:30? I replied
“Hmmm, well it’s fairly simple, it’s some dude from college, probably our class who wants to meet you. And I am fairly sure it’s not to offer you his notes for the exam.” said Disha with an expression that said she was ready to bust in to giggles at any minute now.
And she did. As she giggled, we went past bus number 23.
“Here is 23, here is 23? yelled Disha. I nudged her to be silent and told her I had no intentions of being there.
“But it is 4:25 now, don’t you want to see who sent the note? Come on Asha, please, please” begged Disha. To an onlooker it would have seemed that someone sent her the note
I looked over at Brindha, who was the saner one among usl. Brindha seemed to think it was not an absolutely unfortunate idea. She said it might even be a little fun, knowing who writes notes in the digital era. A tad romantic she said. I thought it was a sad idea. That note was nowhere close to being romantic. Anyway it was decided that I stay and see who the mystery note writer was. Disha and Brindha walked over to the adjacent bus and caught a seat so that they could see me as well as Mr.NoteWriter as he was being referred in our conversation.
Never had I spent so much time glancing at my watch during a 5 minute time interval. Whatever this was, I was not comfortable doing it. This meeting could just be the beginning of complications. The moment this note writer guy shows up, Brindha and Disha would identify him, and once they do, it’s a just a question of time before the rest of the class knew, and then I had to bear listening to his name being screamed at every time I walked in to the class or walked in to an area where he would be present. It was social suicide meeting instant social status, depending on who the guy was. Why did I let myself be talked in to this? Gosh, this is so stupid, I thought to myself.
There it was, there was hardly a second before the minute hand reached 6 in my titan watch. I looked around for a minute and was ready to walk back once I saw that there was no one near the area. I started walking towards the adjacent bus when I heard someone say
“Asha, one minute”
I turned and almost immediately looked at the adjacent bus where Disha and Brindha were seated. Disha giggled yet again and Brindha’s face could not have been graver.
