A morning of January. Cold, dry and silent. It had been eight months now. Nothing much had happened in this interval. Shaena and I had not been talking since that night, and except for the moment each day when we crossed each other while entering the class, she didn’t look at me, and neither did I. I had assumed that it was destined to be so. Only if it was!
The computer lab gave us a chance to come on talking terms again. It was there that we said ‘Hi’ again, and pretended as if nothing had ever happened. She probably must have felt that it was the appropriate thing to do. I tried to behave as normal as possible. “So which book are you reading now?” I asked. “The Namesake”, she said. “Oh, you know what, the boy at length realizes that it doesn’t matter what his name was. Moreover, he starts reading the book of Nikolai Gogol his dad gave him on his birthday.” “You weren’t supposed to tell me that,” she said. Deja vu.
Things turned normal in a few days. We talked as and when needed, not more, not less. “The rains will come and they will go. But you can’t afford to get wet in it every time, can you?” she said one day. And for the first time, I understood what she said.
As our class had a small strength, talks of Shaena and I getting back on talking terms spread. People hardly knew why we had stopped talking, yet they seemed happy when they got to know that we were talking. We never talked of that evening. Shaena had left the coaching classes six months back, so there was no chance of such a repetition. Things went pretty normal for some four months. The day’s brightest before dusk, they say. Something similar was to come.