The window of room 4B was quite likely the window to his soul. For it often mirrored the feelings trapped in the recesses of his heart. Today, the monsoon sky was ferociously swiping pellets of rain against the aged glass panes, causing the rickety wooden frame securing it to crackle. His slender fingers tried in vain to match the rhythm on his guitar to the melancholy and agony brimming inside his heart. The clouds thundered ahead, and the dull ambience turned darker, exactly like the cloud of gloom settling over his being.

He heaved, closed his eyes to the symphony of rain Gods, and his fingers strummed the melody he'd learnt years back, and still played every year to himself, alone in his company.

"Happy Birthday to You...Happy Birthday to You....Happy Birthday dear Aakash...Happy Birthday to You...."

He paused, reflecting on the sixteen odd years he'd spent on Earth. How many years since it had been really a happy birthday? He did not remember. Was he the only person who felt ungrateful for his birth? Apparently so. But he had his reasons. What was the purpose of his existence? Why had he been brought onto the earth? The answer to these questions he couldn't fathom. Probably he was born to repay some wretched karma from a past life.

The clouds outside rumbled loudly, exactly as they had done, subduing his cries, eight years back on this very day. He stood up, went to the window and opened the latch. He could see in the distance the huge wrought iron gates at the entrance to the boarding compound, which for absence of any alternative, he now called home. A memory rose to the fore as he peered at the gates in the pouring sheets- his eight year old self, screaming, crying in pain, seeing his mother abandon him at those very gates. He remembered the kind old school steward, Arun kaka trying to assuage him, and to get him inside, away from that torrential downpour.

"You'll fall ill beta! Come inside. Your mummy will come and visit you soon." Hah! A lie. Not that he blamed Arun kaka for his mother's misdeeds.

Just two days before the deceit, his mother had awoken him sweetly and narrated plans for a huge picnic in Nainital for his birthday- just the two of them, him and his mom. No step-father, no step-son. As any innocent child would, he'd trusted his mother completely and had been elated at the proposal. Finally, he'd get to live with her, he thought. But alas!

It had begun beautifully. Mumma had requested that fancy car for them from her new husband. For a moment, Aakash hesitated, scared if he'd accompany them. But when they set off together that Friday morning over the seven-hour long hilly route, his mind was at peace. He received eight new gifts to mark his coming birthday that Sunday- a new Cricket bat, a walking-talking robot, the race car and track set that he'd so badly wanted, a Basketball, a radium wrist watch, a huge red, yellow and green Milton water-bottle that he secured with pride, and his favorite- a video game.

They'd eaten picnic lunches, slept in a beautiful hotel room with one of those new hand-showers, and visited temples, mountain peaks, lakes and gardens. On Saturday evening, his mother spent a lot of time shopping at Mall Street. She purchased a T-shirt with Superman embellished on it for him to wear on his birthday - the eighth gift. Excited Aakash found it odd that his mother was also buying textbooks for him, and stocks of school uniforms, winter clothes, and shoes. When he enquired about it, his mother brushed the topic off and said there was a surprise for him.

And the next day, on the very day of his birthday, she wheeled him over to St. Joan's boarding school. She tried to brighten the prospects by telling him he'd get to have fun with kids his age, play with them all the time rather than the evening 4-6pm slots. He would make friends and go for picnics and camps in the beautiful valley, and it took the eight year old child a few minutes to comprehend the depth of it all.

"And you? You will also live with me here?" He asked, the child in him hopeful and still trusting.

"Baby, I'll come and visit you soon. You know your daddy gets angry with you there-," she started.

"He's not my daddy!" He stomped his foot.

"Behave yourself Aakash!"

"I won't live here. I will go to dadu!" Dadu was his grandfather, his real father's father.

That wasn't a good convincing argument, and he saw his mother's face harden. "No!" She uttered coldly, signaling the end of the argument.

"Maa...mumma! No...Sorry! I'm sorry! Please....!" He wailed and cried, and she tried to drag him to the giant brick-red edifice. He dug his feet into the ground in resistance, and the driver had to help his mother to take him to the school office.

In those twenty minutes, his face was blotched red with anger and tears. He cried, begging her to let him stay with him, and that he'd behave from now on, but she did not relent. Aakash had never believed that his mother would leave him, just like his father had. Until she asked the driver to lug the trunk out, already packed with things that she'd purchased for him, and Arun kaka ran to help her with the wailing child. The headmaster was firm and polite, and assured his mother that it was normal for a child to behave in a cantankerous manner initially and that with time, they all settle down. He told her she needn't worry for they had a responsible and loving ambience, and that she was free to visit him as often as she liked, or take him home during vacations. Again he needn't have bothered.

The truth of his mother's betrayal hit him hard, when he saw her prop her sunglasses over her eyes and get in the car. She waved at him, and threw a flying kiss to his side, but he ignored it all in his helpless cries for help. The fancy red car screeched around on the gravel, and was soon out of sight, leaving Aakash struggling behind the heavy wrought iron gates- abandoned and afraid- away from everyone he loved.

He turned his back to the window, ashen faced. The memory of his mother's faithlessness haunted him every day. The beginning of the lifelong superstition which made him feel celebrating birthdays in advance was akin to jinxing it.

He peered at his watch. He never wore that radium one. 11 am. She had not bothered to call and wish him. His eyes fell on the half-opened gift package carelessly tossed aside. It held a designer gray and blue Monte-Carlo sweater for the winter season ahead. That was it. A sign that she remembered, for how could you forget the biggest inconvenience of your life? Things as meeting or calling your biological son on his birthday, or any other day for that matter were as inconsequential to her as an extra hundred spent on a new saree. Well, by now he was used to it and it did not worry him as much as the fact that his grandfather hadn't wished him as yet. He was worried. Was he fine? Aakash feared for him as with advancing age, his grandfather had become slightly frail and was becoming increasingly susceptible to maladies.

Mohit, his roommate traipsed into the room just then, pulling him out of his worrying thoughts.

"Hey! What the hell man?" His eyes darted to the half-open window, swaying precariously in the heavy winds, and the pool of rain water that had collected in their room. Mohit walked quickly, gingerly avoiding stepping on the water streaming around on the floor, and snapped the window shut.

"I don't understand why you leave this window open all the time!"

Aakash shrugged. "I'll mop the floor!"

"Oh no, you won't. It's your birthday and birthday boys aren't supposed to work. They're supposed to have fun!" He winked.

Mohit Chhabra was a cherubic, stout sixteen-year old, with ample black hair, oiled and combed- even when he slept they joked, and most importantly, his best friend for over a decade- the only person close to a family he had at St. Joan's.

"Come! It's almost time for the gym class! It's Football because coach felt it's worth the rain!" Mohit pronounced darkly.

Mohit hated anything that involved physical activity, and thus by default he hated all sports. Not that he was all that deft in the mental faculty domain as well. But boy could he paint! Their dormitory was full of his glorious art work adorning the walls, much to the consternation of the warden. But seeing the quality of work, even he acceded and refused to levy a fine.

"We anyways need a whitewash next year!" he said. And every year, armed with a fresh white canvas, Mohit poured his imagination onto the walls, each year better than the last, and excelled in his craft. Three years back, Aakash had suggested charging the students who wished to view his work, and since then, Mohit and Aakash earned some extra cash that they splurged during the holidays. They were Mohit's first earnings as an artist, and Aakash's first as a businessman. The next year, they took contracts for room decorations among the hostel mates, all for a fee and thus they had plenty of pocket money that lasted them all summer.

Aakash pushed himself off the bed and pulled his canvas shoes on his feet.

"I think I'm going to feign a stomach ache", Mohit muttered.

"Come on. How bad can it be?"

"Oh you know it!" He pulled his pants up to show the various bruises incurred during previous episodes of the game.

"-And anyways I have to plan for your party!" He brought his palms to his mouth as Aakash raised his brows. "Oops! I wasn't supposed to tell you this, but the guys have planned a huge party for you tonight!"

Aakash laughed. "Don't worry mate! I'll put on my best surprised face in front of them!" He grinned and sprinted off the corridor for the football field.

The game lasted for over two hours, and Aakash thoroughly enjoyed it. Unlike Mohit, he excelled at sports. He was the captain of the senior cricket team of St. Joan's and had brought many a glorious victories to his school in the inter-school competitions. Basketball was his second love and he was adept at it. He considered himself the worst in Football, yet every team clamored to have him play on their side. And as usual, the side he played on ended up the winner.

Soaked in sweat, mud and rain, Aakash drifted back to the dorm chatting and laughing with his classmates when the warden called out to him.

"Aakash Kundra? There's a call for you."

A flicker surged back in his hopeful heart, lighter after the win on field, and he excitedly sprinted down to the warden's office.

"Aakash?"

It was his grandfather, his dadu.

"Dadu!" Aakash spoke in a sing-song voice, happy to hear that familiar crackling voice again. "How are you? I was worried that you did not call. Tell me, did you forget? No, tell me- you are fine, right?"

"My child, of course I'm doing fine- nothing's going happen to your hale and hearty grandpa! And how could I forget my darling grandson's birthday? Happy Birthday my dear son! May God shower you with immense happiness, love and success that you deserve!"

"Thank you dadu." So far, Aakash felt that his dadu's prayers had not really reached God, but he didn't have the heart to counter him and make him sad.

"So finally you're sixteen! It's a special age! My blessings are always with you!"

"Just blessings?" Aakash grinned.

His grandfather laughed. "Well blessings, along with a pair of those latest Adidas sneakers that you were clamoring for. Actually son, they're late. I ordered them nearly two months ago, and they've reached India, but they're still stuck at customs I've been told. I'll send them across as soon as I get hold of them."

Aakash squealed with delight. "Dadu, you are absolutely the best. Hands down!"

After the conversation with his grandfather, Aakash was in a much better mood. Where his mother had faltered, his grandfather had tried to fill in as much as he'd been allowed to. He treated himself to a long, hot shower, before joining Mohit and his friends for lunch. His hair was still partly wet, and a few locks had clung to his face. His silky, black hair was his most prized possession. He wore it slightly long, as was the fashion in the 90s, though he repeatedly received admonishments from his teachers for the same.

As they walked towards their classes, Mohit nudged him in the ribs. Almost every girl that passed along the corridor smiled at him, or turned away shyly. Some bolder ones exclaimed, "Hi Aakash!" but he hardly paid any heed.

"Your looks are wasted upon you! Had it been I in your place, I would have taken up the opportunities!" Mohit said.

"Trust me, you are better off without them." Aakash replied sagely.

"Easy for you to say, all sleek and handsome," muttered Mohit.

"Please!" he exclaimed, though inwardly he was actually pleased with himself.

Minutes later, Mohit and Aakash were seated in a corner of the classroom, listening to the teacher droning on about the Roman era, which in Aakash's opinion was of no use to him, an Indian living in the vibrant 1990. He allowed his mind, and subsequently his eyes to wander off around the classroom, where they met those of fellow student Riya.

Riya was nothing less than a diva of their school. Tall and full in all the right places, she had pleasing features set in a well-carved face, with beautiful hair framing it. Had it been any other guy to have been blessed with Riya's undivided attention and the coy smile she just presented to Aakash, he would have been prancing around in glee. But Aakash's response was as lackluster as the recital of Roman glories by Mr. Tiwari in the front of the class. In Aakash's opinion, she wasn't particularly beautiful- a bit too tall for her age, slightly dusky and with spindly limbs. But she was also rich, friendly with boys and belonged to the popular girl gang of the school. The real problem was that Aakash had liked her when far from being slender or curvy; she'd been just a scrawny twelve-year old. And that hadn't ended well.

Aakash cocked an eyebrow at her in question and then allowed his gaze to wander away from her face disinterestedly. A few minutes later, the bell rang for the dismissal of the class, and the forty odd students heaved a sigh of relief. Aakash was packing his notebooks and listening to Mohit's chitchat, when Riya wandered down the aisle next to their desk.

Aakash looked up from his bag. "Yes?"

"Hey Aakash. How are you doing? Long time since we talked right?" she muttered cheerily.

Mohit hastily looked the other way.

Aakash thought for a moment, "Yes. As far as I remember, it's been three years since our last conversation?"

Riya faltered a bit. "Why yes, you're right. We were kids back then, weren't we?"

Aakash didn't say anything as he clasped his bag shut.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime with me? Like a coffee or something?"

"You want to go out on a date with me?" Aakash asked coolly.

"Ummm, yeah why not? I think we could be good together."

"Aah!" Aakash looked up and sighed. He turned his gaze back to her face. "This is why you shouldn't think. Your teeny tiny brain isn't capable of it."

"Aakash-," Riya exclaimed indignantly.

"Shhh. I'm not done insulting you," continued Aakash, as Mohit let out a chortle. Riya's gaze flew to his face and she flushed.

"You and I cannot be good together. You know why? Because you are a stupid, insensitive and mean girl, who thinks people will bow down to her every command. And I'm sorry to disappoint you, I'm not one of your subjects." Aakash slung his bag over a shoulder, raked his fingers through his silky locks and said, "you had your chance hon! And you lost it. Aakash doesn't do redoes."

The look of condescension that Riya received rivaled the way the ruthless Romans must have eyed their slaves and captives. She had been spurned down and slighted by the very boy she had insulted in front of the entire school three years ago. She should have known that the present Aakash was way different from the wimpy teenager of that time, and this one wasn't going to let anyone trample over him.

Mohit was chuckling all the way in the corridor, while Aakash was mostly silent. While cold and serene on the outside, he was fuming on the inside. Memories of his first innocent crush came swirling to the fore.

He'd hardly turned thirteen, and one day, all of a sudden, he found himself smitten by the girl he'd studied with since first grade. Maybe it was the magic of female hormones at work on her body, or the charm cast by the male hormones in his, he found himself blushing every time he caught sight of Riya, or when their elbows accidentally scraped. He tried to ensure he looked presentable in front of her. His spurt towards manhood hadn't quite begun and it definitely wasn't showing itself in his physical features. He was barely five foot tall, and mostly skin and bones. His hair had been cropped to an army cut on the instructions of his step-father to the school on his last visit. The most embarrassing part was the sudden eruption of pimples all over his face, which had even earned him the title of 'pimply' in school. Aakash hated himself that time, hated his school, hated his parents, hated his life, but he found himself falling in love with every little thing that Riya did- the way her lips turned up as she laughed, the way she collected her hair into a pony every half an hour, and his breath hitched when she pulled her skirt slightly up and her socks way down, exposing her gleaming, slender legs.

A few times Riya had caught him looking at her, and she'd smiled back. Aakash had felt that his feelings were being reciprocated. And one day, after months of waiting, he'd gathered the courage and went up to her and told her he liked her. She'd twirled her hair around her finger, and coyly asked him, "why?"

The only thing he could mouth was, "you're so beautiful...and so nice. You're nice to me." True love didn't bother about physical appearances, the naïve thirteen year old believed. Yes, it was his fault he took her smile as her approval, and full of sudden bravado, leaned on the toes of his boots, and kissed her cheek. Realizing from her shocked expression, he grew embarrassed at what he'd done. Quickly he mumbled, "sorry," and ran away.

The next morning in the class, all the girls were giving him creepy eyes, wanting to ensure their distance from him, and all the guys seemed to be making fun of him. Wherever he went, people were mumbling to each other.

It was only in the afternoon, after a very uncomfortable lunch that Mohit sprinted into the room and revealed what had happened. Apparently, Riya had gone and told her girl-friends that Aakash was a freak and he'd tried to kiss her. Which was true, he had indeed crossed the line. But what followed was worse. People in school believed that Aakash now had scurvy and rotting teeth, and his pimples were oozing out when he tried to kiss her.

Aakash couldn't believe it. He was rambling down the corridor in a state of shock, when he heard a group of girls whispering.

"I was so disgusted-," he recognized Riya's voice. "He just came and kissed me- right on the lips, and his breath was stinking, and I could see his teeth rotting. I tried to push him away, but he held on, wouldn't let go. And then his pimples scratched, and there was all that pus oozing over his face, and I almost puked and ran away."

There were murmurs of disgust, but the person who was the most appalled was Aakash. Tears were pooling in the corners of his eyes, but of course, he no longer cried. Quietly, he made his way back to his dorm room, and slid under the covers. That night, the last shred of his being that had believed in love had been lost.

Just a few months after that incident, Aakash's woes with his physical appearance began to end. As if a wizard had come at night and sprinkled some magic dust over his being, his height started shooting up. He was outgrowing every new set of clothes he purchased within the next few months. His body, though still lean, began shaping itself, becoming firmer, tauter. And finally the pimples too bade him farewell, leaving behind a spotless face, now wonderfully chiseled and dotted with a stubble that he had to shave off every morning. As his appearance lifted, so did his confidence. Paired with an indifferent attitude, his laurels in sports, girls finally opened their eyes to the wonder man in front of them. All his past was forgotten as girls of their school and on the streets began vying for his attention.

At sweet sixteen, Aakash Kundra had already set many a hearts aflutter, and broken quite a few of them. Yet till date, he denied the existence of love or his belief in it. And the one woman who could change it was sitting about three hundred miles away in a classroom, scribbling away happily, sure she was going to ace this test on the Law of Chemical Equilibrium. 

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Well, here it is finally. The revamped English-novel like version for EU. 

New readers, welcome! Would love to hear your views on the first chapter. 

The readers who've been with me for a long time, especially fans of Samaina from YUDKBH, eagerly waiting for your opinion. How was it? Does Aakash compare with Sameer? 

Do you like the new names? I still tend to write Sameer and Naina so it was hard for me, but I hope the new names symbolize their togetherness. 

Would be waiting for your comments!