Did I understand you when I said you were a short girl, with bright eyes? Were you at a loss, frustrated and lonely like me? Unable like me to ignore the expecting eyes? Small, loving? Making me feel like hugging you tightly like a lost child hugs his mother as he finds her?
This could have stopped me, allured my hungry eyes. However, there was this web of rules, cultures, and the worlds. What could I have done? I moved away as if I had seen nobody, as if blindness had been my virtue. But how visible you were! How audible you were when you were silent!
I can remember I started finding you in my imagination from the third day of my teaching. But wasn't it apposite not to find you there, in that privacy? Wouldn't there be a lot of question marks? A love between a student and a teacher? Would you have accepted me? Was I still able to go through 23 rd failure?
Did you know I respected you? I located you in the sort of family I imagined you had (My imagination came true!) and thought about you when I had sometime for myself. I wondered what that girl might be doing, what she was thinking sitting on her cot, with her eyes glued to the white walls, why her parents wouldn't understand her? There were many questions, answers of which I might not have had then. However, the heart boiled, my affection for you would go on increasing. I wasn't daring enough to ask for your number though!
When you started being closer to me, I wondered now and again if you loved me. Maybe not- this would be the very dominating answer despite the symptoms you dropped in front of me.
I asked to myself if you could love an old man like me? Should she love me? The symptoms were merely jokes.
"You are a great man," you said.
"Flatterers feed you with an empty spoon," I said.
Then you smiled. How should I have deciphered the smile? You tell me.
Meanwhile, there was someone coming in my life, for I had never been closer to the person so modern, so effusive, so bubbly. Yes, she was free and alone too. Probably she might have wanted to remain alone. She merely spoke, never listened. Then that Saturday came when the 'shouldn't-do' happened because I was a man then. The man who is always proud to have had in your life! Her assertiveness befuddled me, her longings gave me spaces. I would only know later that it was merely an illusion.
What does a man do in such a situation other than what I did? I had sex, yeah, I admit.
But there was still emptiness, haunting me, trying to devour me, nagging me every tiny second. There was there, brazen and cunning. And for herself.
She talked about her parents, how much she loved her father, how equally much she hated her mother, she had hooked up in drugs, how I had taught her ways of life. Wasn't that a meaning?
Tell me.
This could have stopped me, allured my hungry eyes. However, there was this web of rules, cultures, and the worlds. What could I have done? I moved away as if I had seen nobody, as if blindness had been my virtue. But how visible you were! How audible you were when you were silent!
I can remember I started finding you in my imagination from the third day of my teaching. But wasn't it apposite not to find you there, in that privacy? Wouldn't there be a lot of question marks? A love between a student and a teacher? Would you have accepted me? Was I still able to go through 23 rd failure?
Did you know I respected you? I located you in the sort of family I imagined you had (My imagination came true!) and thought about you when I had sometime for myself. I wondered what that girl might be doing, what she was thinking sitting on her cot, with her eyes glued to the white walls, why her parents wouldn't understand her? There were many questions, answers of which I might not have had then. However, the heart boiled, my affection for you would go on increasing. I wasn't daring enough to ask for your number though!
When you started being closer to me, I wondered now and again if you loved me. Maybe not- this would be the very dominating answer despite the symptoms you dropped in front of me.
I asked to myself if you could love an old man like me? Should she love me? The symptoms were merely jokes.
"You are a great man," you said.
"Flatterers feed you with an empty spoon," I said.
Then you smiled. How should I have deciphered the smile? You tell me.
Meanwhile, there was someone coming in my life, for I had never been closer to the person so modern, so effusive, so bubbly. Yes, she was free and alone too. Probably she might have wanted to remain alone. She merely spoke, never listened. Then that Saturday came when the 'shouldn't-do' happened because I was a man then. The man who is always proud to have had in your life! Her assertiveness befuddled me, her longings gave me spaces. I would only know later that it was merely an illusion.
What does a man do in such a situation other than what I did? I had sex, yeah, I admit.
But there was still emptiness, haunting me, trying to devour me, nagging me every tiny second. There was there, brazen and cunning. And for herself.
She talked about her parents, how much she loved her father, how equally much she hated her mother, she had hooked up in drugs, how I had taught her ways of life. Wasn't that a meaning?
Tell me.
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