Lost Threads of Time

It rains as I walk down the sidewalk, umbrella in hand, looking at the cold and almost deserted Delhi road. Winter showers are becoming a thing here now. I shiver as a gust of wind passes me, leaving me colder than earlier. An indigo glow graces the horizon as the Sun leaves the plain. 

I walk on hurriedly, afraid I’d miss my evening lecture at the university. It has been a year since I returned from the US after completing my PhD in Math. Since then I’ve been working as an Assistant Professor at IIT Delhi. I sometimes wonder how everything would’ve played out if I didn’t leave this place. If I stayed in my country, maybe I’d stay in touch with all my friends. Especially her. Shrugging off her thoughts, I focus on the task at hand. I’m currently teaching a class of undergrads and I’d rather not have them think their professor is a slacker.

Walking briskly, my eyes catch the silhouette of a woman and my breath hitches.

Although it is getting dark around here, it isn’t nearly enough to contain the beauty that stands in front of me. She looks like the seventeen-year-old girl I had loved and lost. Her sweatpants and tee are replaced by a kurta and denim jeans that make her look mature. Her lips no longer look bare but painted on by a lip balm. Maybe it is lipstick. I wouldn’t know. She always teased me about my lack of knowledge in certain areas; colors being one of them.

“Aksh, this is not done. You love learning and gaining knowledge. Yet you can’t remember that the color I’m wearing is lavender, not purple.” She used to puff her cheeks and punch me lightly on the shoulder while saying all this.

Presently, she carries a lavender tote bag on her shoulder and an umbrella to save her from the rain. Last time I saw her at the school farewell, her hair was only shoulder length. She had gotten her waist length hair cut short, and she came to school the next day complaining about how dumb her decision was.

“Aksh, Mumma said this would look good. Ugh. I can’t even breathe with hair entering my eyes and ears. This is torture. This is sadism.” She had groaned. I couldn’t help my smile as I’d told her she looked beautiful. In any other circumstance, I wouldn’t have said that. I lacked the courage. Yet that day, wearing a salwar-kameez with her hair open and eyes surrounded by kajal, she looked beautiful. Make-up didn’t mask her beauty or make her look beautiful. The make-up she did highlighted the beauty of her face. Those brown eyes with a light skin tone looked ethereal as she complained about everything that was wrong with her short hair.

Now, her hair is back to a waist length braid, her face the same as it was a decade ago. All the emotions that I’d experienced as a seventeen-year-old boy threaten to crush my heart. Especially when I remember the reason we stopped talking. We weren’t dating, and it wasn’t a heartbreak. We were just two friends who lost contact with each other after going off to college. She pursued a BS in Physics while I did a B.Tech at IIT. Despite studying in the same school, we lived in diametrically opposite areas of Delhi so our chances of meeting during semester breaks were rare. More so after our high school friend group stopped hanging out. It was just a part of growing up. Sometimes, growing up means growing apart.

“Text me every day, okay?” Her shrill voice ordered me as she had looked at me with teary eyes. “Tell me all about college and how fun it is. Don’t make me miss out on the college experience because I’m not doing a B.Tech.” She had punched me lightly before wiping away the lone tear that escaped her eyes.

I didn’t keep my promise. We stopped talking and it hurt. I didn’t realize until now that I miss her as much as I did when we first stopped talking. I miss how we’d sneak to a library to discuss conspiracy theories against AI or the latest development in physics or math. I miss how we used to fight over who’s dumber and who’s more dramatic. The way we could spend hours talking about science and music and everything in between without needing a break. I miss it all. I miss her.

I walk towards her with purpose. I want to talk to her. I want to know if she has achieved her dream of becoming an experimental physicist or not. I desire to know if she has completed her PhD in Physics, if she’s finally doing what she loves. Moreover, I want to know if she remembers me. If she remembers the time we spent together. I wished I’d told her how I felt. I have no time to think about what-ifs. My hurried steps lead me in front of her, only a few feet apart, and I feel the nerves building up.

My heart beats against my rib cage too fast. I shove my sweaty hand in the pocket of my trousers as I try to tighten my grip on the umbrella. “Hello, Swati.” I hear my voice crack at the end as she stops in her tracks and looks up at me.

“Akshit?” Her eyes stare at me, trying to recognize me. I don’t blame her. I’m no longer her fat best friend and she’s no longer my fat best friend. We’ve both lost weight and grown up.

I nod. “How are you?” I ask, hoping to keep the conversation alive.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry, but I have to go for my evening lecture in the Physics Department. Let’s catch up later. What do you say?” Her eyes shine with an unknown emotion as her fingers fidget with the strap of her bag. I look at her with a proud face. It’s an unfamiliar emotion when the person you’ve seen struggle with their dream finally achieve their dream.

“Yes, sure. I need to go for my lecture to the Math Department. Here’s my number,” I say as I type it on her phone. “Let’s catch up tomorrow. How does that sound?” I hope she says yes.

“Tomorrow sounds good.” She smiles with a proud glint in her eyes as she walks on her way. And I feel like that seventeen-year-old boy who asked his crush out on a date.