By Priyasha Gupta
Sincerely, Layla
He wore a dark blue backpack. Actually, I’ve never been sure. On the days it rained, which was often, it looked almost black. Through the windows, I always used to watch him climb up the white rococo steps of the school building. And I always wondered and formulated theories for his rushed footsteps.
I always knew it was him when he’d drum his fingers against his gray pants as if he were anxious for something. Sometimes, they’d quiver, and I’d be tempted to still them with my own fingers. I knew it was him when only one backpack strap was slung over his shoulder, the other hanging loosely. I knew it was him when his hands would slide through his dark raven hair and he’d smile a dorky smile at the phone he held in his left hand.
Nobody else seemed to notice him pass by the window. For others, he could’ve very well been a fourth dimensional phantom.
Pencils continued to graze against paper, like if they wrote fast enough, the problems would go by quicker. Dainty fingers typed away on tiny illuminated screens, like the teacher wouldn’t notice how their gazes are fixated on their laps for some unknown reason. The anticipated whispers continued about who likes who, like anyone really cares.
But nobody else ever saw him. No one except me. No one except me. No one noticed how my eyes swept upward and caught him in the few split seconds before he was gone again.
I desired to know him, to walk with him. I wanted to know what made him smile when he looked down at his phone.
I could never find him anywhere else. Not the hallways, not in a classroom, or in the cafeteria. Sometimes I thought he was a figment of my imagination.
-----
The tires on a bus weren’t that big when you think about it. With three others, tires seemed all-mighty to be able to hold up a bus like that. But, by themselves, they wouldn’t be able to do anything. They would need others to fulfill their job, or they’re discarded; rendered useless. Just like people, I thought as my yellow rain boots clomped onto the footpath.
The bus driver nodded at me as I got on. I wondered if she ever got tired of sitting in the same seat every day on repeat.
The seat was wet when I sat down. Wind rustled my hair, and when I glanced sideways, the window was slightly open, the only window on the entire bus letting in the cold from outside. I didn’t touch it. Something about the way the world smelled after it rained kept me from pushing the window closed. Really, what difference would it make if I closed it or not? The earth wouldn’t stop spinning, would it?
----
I didn’t believe that I actually saw him until I ran into him in the hallways. I was confused because why would he be here before fifth period? Why would today be any different from any other, especially when nothing ever changed in this world?
I guess something about today was different though. His eyes met mine, for a very brief moment, too short for me to react or say anything. Did he catch me blatant, expressionless face? Did he think I was cute?
---
I passed by him a few more times and I didn’t do anything clichéd like tuck a strand of hair behind one ear, smile flirtatiously, or wave obnoxiously. Instead, I met his eyes each time and I tried to convey what I could through eye contact, but each time, he looked more and more confused.
I went home disappointed.
---
I wasn’t a stalker. I’m sure I would know. People like to say that people don’t know when they’ve gone insane. I think they do. They know when they’ve gone mad, they’ve just lost too much hope to keep trying to convince others they’re not slowly losing their mind day by day.
I wasn’t insane. I just didn’t follow the status quo.
So, I tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned around and saw me, his Stygian coal- black eyes bored into mine, a crease forming between his brows.
He recognized me and I shrunk away about an inch. Wordlessly, I slip a piece of paper into his hand. His fingers curl around it as he watches me leave.
---
I don’t know who you are, and I don’t expect you to tell me. You’re probably feeling perplexed. You have no reason to read this, but I just want to say that I’m not a very vocal person. I believe actions are more meaningful.
Every day up until yesterday I saw you walk by a window in my fifth period math classroom. I always pondered why. Do you just not have the first five periods like normal students. Actually, scratch that. I don’t want you to assume that I think you’re not normal…trust me, we all have our issues.
For the longest time, I thought you had places to be, and that’s why you were always running your hand through your hair and walking just a little bit faster when you passed by my window. You probably
have someone special to talk to because you always looked down at your phone and smiled.
I really don’t know who you are, and what I’m trying to say to you in the least awkward way possible is that I’d like to meet you. I don’t expect you to respond. But if you do, we might become friends, who knows?
Sincerely, Layla.
---
The next day, he was walking past the fifth period window once again. But this time, he stopped in his tracks. His finger reached up for the window and he traced some letters into the condensation on the windows. Two letters.
An H and an I. Hi. The word that can start a conversation. The word that can spark a friendship. A single word that can change lives. I smiled and he smiled back.
---
At age nine, Nikhil Rai was pulled from his home under the order of Child Protection Services because his parents were abusive alcoholics. His adopted parents treated him like their own for eight years. When Nikhil was fifteen, they got into a car crash with a drunk driver and died.
Nikhil walked to school from an orphanage for a few hours every day to get to class because there was no one available to drive him into town. At age eighteen, Nikhil had had enough. He wanted to end it. He wanted to die.
And then a girl watched him through a window he passed every day. But rather than laughing or frowning at him, she watched him quietly. Nikhil was confused why one girl should show such interest in him when no one else ever did. Especially when she gave him a note that explained more than everything.
He walked differently ever since the day he worked up the nerve to say hi to her. To see someone smile at him…at something he did, it was more than enough.
Nikhil Rai graduated from Harvard University at the young age of twenty-three.
Don’t always trust what you see through a window, because the reality might be very different on the other side.
By Priyasha Gupta
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