Stroke Of Luck

I re-visited school after 4 years on Founder’s Day. To be honest, I didn’t think I’d make it but as fate would have it, classes at the University were called off. Stroke of luck!
Strolling down those familiar corridors of my Alma Mater, I felt myself instinctively halt outside what used to be class 12 Commerce. My classroom. His classroom.
Memories came flooding back. His bright grin that flaunted an even set of pearly whites. The radiant, perfectly chiseled face, with beautiful brown eyes I could never look into for too long; maybe because I was too shy, or he was too good looking, or both. The charm that left girls swooning. Impish retorts that compelled the strictest teachers to smile. School crush. Ah! How cute, I thought as I walked in. A series of flashbacks and the rush entailed, followed suit.
That’s where our group would sit, I reminisced. The teacher’s table, where we submitted homework. Some of us, at least. That’s where Vikrant had ‘proposed’ to Saloni and right here, Arjun had pretended to faint, which landed him in the Principal’s office, instead of the infirmary, I mused, pacing.
And him. His group would occupy the middle rows with him bang in the centre of the class; cynosure of all eyes that he had been. Yes, that’s where he’d sat.
It was then that I chanced upon something I’d never noticed before. Words etched into the desk surface. His desk. Probably with a compass, someone finally put to use. His name. A little heart. And mine. Wait, what? Mine? I blinked and read my name again, as I felt my heart perform a jig. Who? How? Did he…?
Questions zoomed in and out of my already hyper active brain as my scooty zipped past snail paced cars; the breeze tossing my hair and a smile playing on my lips. School – it never fails to make your day. A discovery and a kaleidoscope of memories. Stroke of luck, indeed.

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The Monologue

“You know dad,” she said, “sometimes I feel you don’t listen when I speak.” No reply. “Like when I call out to you, you don’t seem to hear me. Do you even care? You saw me cry today but didn’t comfort me. I wonder how you can be so heartless!” No response, not a word. “See! This is exactly what I mean. You’re still doing it. Will you even turn and face me while I speak now or should I believe I don’t exist for you?” Desperate, she screamed, “Dad! Answer me!” He didn’t flinch at the sound of his beloved daughter’s cry. He lay there stone cold. They covered his face with a shroud and lifted his body. Tears streamed down her face while she heard the words “Raam Naam Satya Hai”; loud at first, slowly fading, as the procession took him further away, leaving the conversation incomplete, forever.