She had had enough. Enough of the sexual tension, she simply had to let it flow, in a distinctly unfettered and unbashful manner. There he was, the young man who she had convinced herself was just a platonic friend, a pleasant acquaintance deserving not more than an occasional thought during the day, with his friends. He seemed to content with them and without her. He seemed to be in no immediate and desperate need for her, which she observed was starkly different from the cool evening a few years ago when he told her that he loved her. That was but adolescent frenzy, a hasty result of a few smiles and handshakes, which, had she said yes, would have culminated in nothing, but nothing except for regret, and confusion. Now it was very different, both of them had matured, emotionally and physically, and she saw him so involved in the seemingly petty conversation with his peers. She seemed to have vanished into oblivion. She wasn’t a part of his circle at all. And it drove her crazy.
Another reason for her tense mien was that the musings and fancies of adolescence had not left her untouched; she too had felt, at times, great surges of emotion to tell him she loved him. At those times, she recalled, her mind would wander to those areas which were till that time seemed prohibited, and she would have thoughts which would later embarrass her. But she knew better than to be outwardly vocal about these musings: she had to embower the urges within her, she knew. In fact, all girls, I feel somehow have this innate maturity, this wisdom which guides their thought and prevents them from doing those things foolish which adolescent boys are most known to do.
Alisha, the protagonist of our story, was now pondering on the wisdom of that restraint which had then seemed so reasonable, so proper. Did not that restraint lead to the bottling up of emotions and physical needs, which were now seeking to manifest themselves in shameful, desperate acts? At times like these, she often pleased herself in the confines of her room; doing every one of those characteristically shameless acts in her mind, which she could not execute in the physical reality. But now, our protagonist is not in her room, she is at a party, and this is the party of the object of her fancies.
It is dark except for the fancy light beams bouncing off people’s faces occasionally. The music was loud, but reasonable. Any neighborly complaints would have been unfair. And in this disturbed darkness, Alisha was sitting alone on the sofa. It is surprising how very alone one can be in a crowd of more than fifty people. She longed to be noticed, if not by him then at least by some other guy, who would play deputy lover. She uncrossed her legs nervously and then crossed them again.
She recalled the numerous times young men had approached her with the offer to buy her a drink. Almost half of these times these men had even been decent-looking, if not out rightly cute. She resented herself for having rejected those men, for it was now that she longed for someone, anyone, to approach her. In her mind, she repeatedly told this invisible man that he would not regret approaching her, she would not reject him.
At once, she felt the warmth two palms cover her eyelids, and with that, a familiar voice, whisper into her ears, “Guess who?”
She could not stop smiling. It was impossible for her to not recognize that voice, now of all times. It seemed her rumination had diverted her attention from the object of her fancies.
“Akash”, she said softly as she moved his palms off her eyes and pulled him closer to herself, allowing his hands to reach her stomach.