by Shreya Ramachandran
[box]”‘But why talk about the past?’ you asked. ‘Because we have no future.'” Shreya Ramachandran on adolescent love.[/box]“It’s warm, isn’t it?” you asked. I knew that you had started shaving, and that you bought your clothes from the men’s section of stores, but your voice still caught me by surprise. It was deep, strong and quiet: the voice of a man. It reminded me that you were no longer a boy – and nor, for that matter, was I any longer a girl.
We were sitting on the wooden deck. The cycles were parked next to us, our shirts were wet with sweat. Our legs dangled over the lake. We had cycled for what felt like days and days, and I could still imagine the sound of the creaking wheels.
Your eyes were like beetles – solid, round, black. You laughed, but your eyes kept looking at me. You stopped laughing and looked away. Your hand was on the deck, just lying there in the sun. I inched my hand closer … slowly, I held out my hand, but you had noticed the movement. You looked down, and then looked back up.
“You said no”, you said, and the word hung over our heads. NO.
I let my hand remain where it was, and said, “You dated Ishana.”
‘No’ still drifted in the air like a lazy dragonfly.
“You would have been cooler. But you said no.” The dragonfly buzzed.
We stared out at the lake in front of us. It was a beautiful shade of calm, deep blue.
“I don’t know why I said no.”
I used my empty hand to swat at the dragonfly, which was starting to fly away.
You cleared your throat. You had to hold back your words; maybe you had no words. “It took me a while to get over you, too”, you offered as consolation. “That’s why I dated Ishana. When you said no, I just wanted to feel liked?”
You sounded bitter and childish.
Both our hands were off the deck and in our own laps.
Pink suited you. I wanted to tell that to you, but I had the strange fear that if I told you, you would stop wearing pink.
We sat by the lake immersed in the stories of yesterday that surrounded us.
“But why talk about the past?” you asked.
“Because we have no future.”
You laughed. “Good one.”
Somehow, though, I couldn’t find the humour in my throat. Dragonflies are hard to catch. They are always tantalizingly out of reach where they can be seen, not heard. I still haven’t laughed.
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