It was the winter of 1999. It was a cold afternoon and I was looking for something to make me feel warm.

"... Smitha is joining us."

Saying so, Prabhu, Roy, Lakshmi, Arun and Priya huddled around me. I withdrew into a corner of our cubicle in the computer lab. We were all set to go for a movie after class - just the six of us - when the news of Smitha's joining in sent a shiver up my spine. I now needed two cups of coffee.

Now, Smitha wasn't a mean person or anything. In fact, she was quite the opposite. She was friendly, warm and polite to the point where she would invariably land in one new gossip every week. She cared the least about such things and continued to be amiable, and everyone as usual misconstrued it as attitude. That she didn't give a damn about such misconceptions lent credence to the claims of those who peddled rumours as truth. Long story short, she was never ignored and she always ignored - a vicious cycle that whoever-sits-above-all-and-chooses-to-end-things chose to end with me.

As far as I was concerned, I was always in the thick of news too, for all the wrong reasons. I dressed badly, never understood girls (a trait that is helping me in my married life now), never read signals right (which is not helping my driving) and so, ended up friend-zoning myself with aplomb. As for developing pointless crushes - even normal people have such problems and so, have nothing to brag about.

So, when my friends said Smitha was joining, I recoiled in horror. We both were embroiled in the latest gossip episode and the last thing I wanted was for them to become true. Here I was, an adolescent with poor skills in signal-reception and a girl who never sent any. We were naturally incommunicado and as incompatible as Tolstoy and brevity. This made us the perfect candidates that could be brought together and kept together for very long.

"No way man," I told my friends. "There is no way I am coming if she is."

Prabhu smacked me hard. "Who the hell do you think will pay for the ticket? You are coming or you are paying for all of us." Now this was a scarier prospect, with my father having to get involved with the commercials. There was no way I could nick that much money and it wasn't as though I was buying books for me to ask him. And so, I had to settle for a movie with Smitha, the only solace being the other five would be around to prevent any mishap. Or so I thought.

In a while, we were all at the bus stop - Myself, Prabhu, Roy, Arun, Priya, Lakshmi and Smitha - standing in that order. I stood rooted, watching out for the bus while others did what people usually do when they wait at the bus stop - chat away to glory with least regards for buses that come and go. In a while, a crowded bus arrived and we promptly got in. Smitha, Roy and I got into the front and the other four got in through the rear side. I was sweating from the crowd, Sun and Smitha.

"I am going to buy tickets," Roy said and started ploughing his way through the crowd even before I could open my mouth in protest. As boys/ young men usually do on such occasions, I looked at Smitha and smiled sheepishly. "Hello," she said and I nodded. In a while, Roy came back, handed two tickets and walked back in the pretext of getting the change from the conductor. I repeated my earlier routine. He didn't.

After half an hour of purgatory, the bus came to a halt. I leapt out, hoping to get into formation with the rest - Smitha and I at the opposite ends - and froze in place as the bus left. The other five had vanished without a trace. I turned around and much later than I would've liked, learnt what the plan was. Smitha stood there, smiling and asked if we could go in. I nodded weakly. I'd never watched a movie with a girl, all by myself. The movie itself wasn't one to look forward to - Stuart Little or End of Days - I don't recall. I could count on the moderate crowd to help soothe my haggard self.

"Shall we have something to drink while we wait?" she said after she purchased the tickets. We had about twenty minutes to go and there was nothing that would let me say no.

"One coffee. And you?" I said and took the wallet out.

"Rosemilk," she said, turned towards me and smiled. "I love rosemilk," she said.

"No rosemilk, madam." the shopkeeper said disinterestedly. "Only orange or fresh lime." You see, those weren't the days of multiplexes and food courts. The shop was a shanty outside the theater (not screen) and so, if the girl next to you purses her lips in disappointment, you find what she wants elsewhere. That was the code.

"Wait right here," I said as I found myself in a rare moment of unflinching initiative. "I'll be back with the rosemilk in a jiffy. There is a shop just around the corner that sells the best."

Even before she could say, "why can't I come with you?", I stuffed a ticket in her hand and started walking towards the shop-around-the-corner. I couldn't let my discomfort ruin my life any longer. I had to grow up and become a man. I hurried towards the corner, turned around and waved at her. She acknowledged with a visibly uncomfortable nod. I took a deep breath and waved again. It was time to turn the corner.

It has been twenty years. I am sure Smitha has moved on.

After all, who in their right senses would wait outside a theater for nineteen and a half years for a cup of rosemilk? I am sure she must have figured out that I had bolted away - knowing me and all that you know. My gang didn't give a damn - we forgave each other. Smitha switched batches out of spite.

This is why I think the rosemilk continues to hunt me mercilessly wherever I go.