I'm okay. Perfectly fine. I'm fineBut when you share everything with your mama and a specific thing quash you from it, makes you feel remorseful.

I don't know.

Its Saturday.Holiday.My Saturdays were mostly spent outside. But today, I can no more let it go. I cant. I haven't talked to mom about this. I skim my mobile. Leap to the bed even though the clock strike at 3 pm.I skim my palms through the pocket. I take the wrinkled paper.

"'Fin.

Richard.

Stacy.

Tessy.

Naira.'

I flip the other side of the paper.

'nai###@.com'then it's brief for her Diary app, password. There is no way that this paper was torn from a normal book, but, from her 'security book'.I have no idea what made her do so.Maybe by mistake. But I can't even think of doing blunders like accidentally, getting your passwords of that app where you type everything like everything.In a way, I feel bleak for peeping into someone's solitude. In her case, it's almost aggressive than that word privacy. if such a word exists.

She writes everything. I meant everything. For instance, she writes even if the dog yelped outside or she was thinking for 2.00 microsecond when the bell rang or she sneezed 2 times more than expected or her eyes blink twice when she is enraged or she pecks her lips when she is edgy or stressed or she shudders her hands when she is shy.And I have got her, micro expression done.I comprehend it's not that good to dart into someone else's diary, that to the dairy of your love. Then the diary, I have got nothing about her, nothing.

Maybe this is a sin, 

searching for you,

a beautiful sin 

worth Having effects.

All my heart ask is,

Not an end,

But a forever.

My NM book mostly includes poetry I have written for her. I have never conveyed that with anybody like I didn't share the story I met her. I don't want the planet to know. I don't. And the world will never know, neither her.

Let the clouds say,

The enigmatic chapters you carry

Let the night depict,

The untold feelings.

Let me be yours,

Bright cloud at night.

I ask,

Just that.

Okay, she may read or may not in the future. But you know, reading a romance book all my female characters seems to be her. Every character. Like Hazel Grace in The Fault In Our Stars, Violet in All The Bright Places, or Natasha in The Sun Is Also A star and this forever list go on.I heard that, only 35% of girls like men who write poetry. But I don't care about the percentage. Who does?.

It's only when the clock pounds 4 in the evening, I'm back at reality, I need to go. I take a quick flurries look at the Pantene shampoo but I don't use, my hair is already arid enough.The shadows have already set for their leave. Okay, I'm not that kind of guy to read her diary and then risk her. I'm not, what I'm feeling is true.But, it isn't good enough not. To her that her diary has been leaked to that guy, who has been behind for more than 5 years.

When you meet a girl and fall into a devotion meeting for the first time when she is having her vulnerable time, you have nothing to look back but to own her in a way that she can be she only.---------------------The biriyani tastes exemplary in the canteen, even though I have already brought Mommy packed chapatti have eaten 'em.I'm a sucker for biriyani.The red bricks, using which canteen had been built up is making me so drowsy. And in every corner, there is the menu stuck onto the wall. The canteen is crowded, of course with students but none from my batch, strange.Then the canteen, it's the gigantic tree catching attention even from the office.The bark of three had been leaned in L shape, which allows the students to sit on, triangular leaves falling. The wall next to it, which separates, the hill and our school in a beautiful way that it welcomes the whole view of the town.

The mumblings of students around me force me to keep my thoughts aside.

'Chetta,pepsi please'.I finish it in a few gulps.The waft outside is cool, defying the students to reach class earlier. It's weird for me to eat alone, I meant it doesn't mean you shouldn't accompany your friend if he is still starving after the food he had got from home, eaten.

I feel so weird, my every lunch is carried by gossips thrown by friends. I feel pity for myself for having double-lunch.But the screaming around me doesn't let me think calmly.I love being around many. It makes me feel, worth, and a reason to live with. I fasten up my appetites', I can't be alone anymore.

Current Status,Pepsi: FinishedBiriyani: in 2 minutes [only if I chew faster].Relationship status in Canteen: single [more accurately alone]Even in my subconscious mind, I'm hoping that one of my pals would show up and just sit in front of me.People.

----------

~*NAIRA*~

Even in my subconscious mentality, I'm expecting that this canteen would be barren, I even wish, the world was empty. Empty enough to let me feel being me. Around people, there isn't myself anymore. But people's anticipations. In a way that, I hate breaking people's expectations, which of course, like being jailed for a life-time.

I hate it. But I'm jailed. That's the truth.I walk up, hate that the canteen is crowded. Looking around, I walk straight to order my plate of Naan Roti and Chicken Stew which of course I know chicken in water. Yes, my mango Tropicana too.

As I take my steps My eyes fell. My mouth fell. My heart misses a rhythm that every corner has been taken except the one eating alone.Shane Michael.Biriyani.Pepsi.Hate."Hey, kiddo, would you be able to exchange the seats, please?", she is approximately 10.she doesn't seem so excited. She is so boasting with her friends from which I assume her answer .No.A solid no.

Bad luck is my sister, wherever I go. May be isn't about the bad luck but my cynical.I carry my plate, heads down. hell yes.Just in front of him.His stares enlarge, his chicken fall to the place from his biriyani nudged hands. He seems to be cheerful when I'm not. He quickly takes his mobile as if he needs to be operated. He does nothing except just beaming and scrolling over the phone. I wonder he has a girlfriend. I don't care.

All these years, I have been understood to detest boys.I, myself made to. Now and then, I was reminded by my parents about being in a relationship at this age, which I, of course, hate. Hate people who are into it too.

"Hey, okay if I..".He doesn't let me finish the sentence."All fine, all yours".A good few minutes of speechlessnesses passes us by, making the Naan Roti and as well as biriyani look uneasy. Yeah!.

I love that way how this canteen has been built, red. Which signifies depressive, sole and I'm loving it."Would you like me to order Biriyani for you?"."For you".He repeats, to finally catch my alert."Biriyani...I don't like it", my lips bend and I can feel it. Cheeks crumple showing my dismay towards Biriyani."Are you serious?. Biriyani is divine okay?. It just slips into your mouth with infinitesimal strange flavors which makes your mouth and stomach dance in pleasure", he exhale once he finishes.

"Pluck a piece of Naan Roti, just dip into spicy chicken curry, probably not this, see how your mind will make you crazy".I'm not a Naan Roti lover, left with no choice but to win over him.His lips open the gate to showcase his perfect teeth and a strange sound of laughter coming within him. Genuine laughter, I can feel it. I have never met a boy who laughs this loud for pretty insane reasons.

I see his Adam's apple moving as he swallows a big spoon of Biriyani. He was fast, but now, he is the tortoise and I'm the rabbit.It was true when I said, I hate boys.Reason:1.because they aren't girls.2.They aren't girls at all3.last not but the least,For god's sake,They are boys!.

"Do you know why people make friends?".It is seriously unnatural to the boy talk about friendship when I'm munching the hardest part of Naan RotiMouth stuffed, I ask."wwhhhy?"."Cause we are uncomplicated.yet Light too. We can't just bury our feelings in our heart itself. It may break. Break into millions of pieces. There should be one to make you feel safe and protected or to help you collect the broken pieces of heart to reconcile.""Wow"."Great, I'm moved".instead, I say." you write poetry, don't you?"."Holla, yes!, but how?", I can see his eyes glistening with amazement.I take my MangoI Tropicana's first gulp." the words like 'broken piece', 'reconcile', 'feelings' are mostly used by poets, Mister Shane".

He is unhappy, maybe I misunderstood him. I assumed it the way his hands danced on the air, the way he wants it. To be conveyed it to me."Not true"."Okay,fine.Continue...what were you saying?....ahmm..yess..Friends"."I have got friends".I add"True one?"."Sharing everything?"."Understanding?"."Charm?"."Make you feel worth?".This gap between every phrase is so clumsy."I get it.I admit.i don't have one.So what then?".I finally concede as I can't win over him in the matter 'friends'.

he looks down, I can see his black shoes crusted in mud falling off to the ground. He relieves up his tie, makes the dancing hair strand stay solid."We can be each other's Butterfly companion, can't we?".The waft of the vicinity has changed in a second that, it no more smells biriyani but like, of buds flowered in the desert.

The world has changed around me. And I'm not yet ready to accept it.