A Book That'S Not Supposed To Be Opened

A BOOK THAT’S NOT
SUPPOSED
TO BE OPENED
This is a confession, a weight that I will carry for the rest of my life. It’s about love, it’s about my first
break up. I don’t want to sound like 19 year old which I really am but I want to speak in such a way that
my expression are not age bounded. Here, I let go everything ………………….
Let’s talk about my choices, I like a girl who are beautiful but not the center of attraction. Remembering
my early childhood I am a boy who think and act. I used to fall in love with every girl I see outside the
school. Even if she is just returning from school. May be I used to love the idea of being in someone
else’s head so one girl used to return home from school through the street in front of my house. I
realized she was my classmate so I hung my id card outside my windows so that she would know I live
there I don’t know why I did that but I did it. I used to love a girl that I used to rarely play with me she
used to live in third floor. I remember once in holi I was chasing her with my water gun that my father
bought for holi. I chased her form ground floor till the third floor but the old house owner was soo
annoyed of the noise we were making that he chased me back to the ground floor and I lost her. We
used to yell “papi” sinner to those people who were just burying a dead cow thinking they were the
killer. And I lost my childhood there and came to gothatar I barely knew anyone I just wanted to blend in
so my priority were boys , I found “punde”abhijeet , raghiv , kishwor , shishir . after some years I saw
monika thapa . She was cute little Korean type girl soo cheerful used to cry sometimes. I used to beg her
attention too. 0nce I stole my fathers red pen and went to school there was her house in between so I
wrote my name on a bamboo thinking she will notice my name but how someone could possibly see a
name between bunches of bamboo.
After some years there came a girl from monastic named nisha . her hair were always tied but still
somehow messy . thousand of hair string would pop out of her head but her hair were always tied. It
caught my interest. Her legs were skinny, had a scar in her forehead. She was not very attractive but the
consistency and simpicity of her look it’s like she made it her personality. Those messy hair skinny legs
scared forehead and slightly uneven tooth. her laugh were not charming but it was hers. Everything
about her was her’s, “the perfect imperfections”. I was amazed by her once I saw her playing in field of
hays she was wearing kurta surual and on top a choli the one with the string, swear to god that touched
my heart string. I used to love her not gonna lie but one day we all wet to pashupati and she put rakhi
on my hand I could not say no because I have never told about how I feel about her and saying that and
getting ignored would have been scandalous in school so I wore it took a vow to not look at her that way
and I did not put her in my lover list never even during peak teenage hormone bullshit. I used to not feel
jealous of her boyfriend nothing . we passed school talked for some week and went on our own way . I
joined kv totally different lifestyle totally different friends. I hated Indians didn’t know why . I was
carrying racist thoughts. There Were lots of pretty girls but I never had confidence of approaching then
so I ignored all of them and started smoking joined a group of failures. One day srijan and nisha came to
my house I was really surprised. We went to Krishna mandir clicked some photos spent some time and
we came back home . I was already zoned out by that time, so much into smoking and all even used to
hit clubs. I knew I was not who I was but I was still pushing something out of me which was not me at
all . I failed 11th and was home for 4 months isolating myself from everything I just wanted to go
somewhere and nisha came in like an angel .”oa sundaril jal jane ?” that’s what I wanted since 3 months
we went to chisapani. I would say that was the forest that connected us. I wanted an escape she came
and gave me . after that some week or days went by I don’t remember how but we ended up talking
openly. Fuck the relationship we were having sex but in between somewhere I felt wrong about it. It was
hard for me to accept myself. I used to not see her that way . why I did what I did does that rakhi meant
nothing . what about the trust. I started hating myself for that. I dint wanted it to be just a casual so I
confessed her my feelings, there is like a 2 image of me within myself . the one who wore rakhi and the
one who saw her at that hey field.
Its been 8 months since our breakup I don’t know if I am over it I still dream about her. I hate myself

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