Secret Love

Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

Stumbling haphazardly through college, one barely had the time to breathe, let alone fall in love. With the assignments, the projects and examinations, I had no time for serious love. I permitted myself to harmless flirting, but love was a definite no-no. That was until I saw her.

Up till recently, I was still unsure why I fell so helplessly head over heels over this girl. Two years on, the feelings have subsided. We have moved on along our own separate paths but sometimes I still see her or chance upon an old photo. I cannot help but smack myself on the head and ask myself, “What the hell was I thinking?”

The truth of the matter was that this girl was not exceptional. She was no Aphrodite, no Helen of Troy. She was the quiet one in school, spending her time mostly alone, always rushing off from one place to another. Myself, I was not exactly Mr. Popular either. But neither was I reclusive or friendless. I would say I was pretty normal, an average Joe. But this story is not about me. It is about her.

I never knew she even existed till after a year in college, when fate almost brought us together. I say almost because technically, I was nearly ten feet away from her. I was shuffling behind her, when she glanced back and our eyes locked for all of two seconds. She quickly turned back and hurried off, as if she had just made eye contact with a mass murderer. There were no fireworks, no birds chirping around me and instead of angels singing, I heard the discipline mistress shouting at me for being late. But I knew this was the start of a secret love.

From our first encounter, it seemed as if we were meant to be together. I kept bumping into her around school. I found out she sat in front of my class during lectures and slowly began to piece together her daily routine. This girl, she moved like clockwork. She would be in school the same time every morning, sit at the exact same spot in lectures and have her lunch at one sharp in the canteen (at the same spot and buying food from the same stall of course). She would then proceed to the library and seat at the back to study.

I began to think that maybe this girl was obsessive compulsive and a wee bit psycho. But I realized how easy her uncompromising routine made it for me to stalk her. Yes, that is right. I freely admit that I ‘stalked’ her. Of course I did not follow her home or wait for her at bus-stops, but I started to look forward to seeing her in school. A day would not have been complete without having a glance at her. She was not the weird one. I was.

It sounds pathetic, but I was addicted to her like a drug. I was addicted to the half-second glances I got each day. My friends laughed at me. They could not understand what I saw in her and honestly, neither could I. I knew things were starting to spiral out of control when I started to use metro sexual hair products and had begun to write poetry dedicated to her. I knew I had to make a decision. I was going to make my move. The moment I decided to, I regretted it at once.

It sounds easy, to just go up to a girl and start a conversation but trust me it is not. Either that or there is something hopelessly wrong with me and I am a social imbecile. I think the main reason why I was so afraid of making contact was the fear of rejection. I was not prepared for an ego bruising. I kept giving myself excuses. We did not know each other, we had nothing, and I really mean absolutely nothing, in common. I would have given up on my hopeless pursuit but she just would not let me.

The moment I resolved to abandon my fancy dreams, she just had to smile. I will never know if she smiled at me, or was just smiling at something in my general direction. I sleep better at night believing that it was me she smiled at though. This was the smile that would have launched a thousand ships. This was the revelatory smile. At that point it hit me why I was so hopeless enamored by her.

Obviously testosterones played a huge part, but I believe it was the fact that I never ever got to know her better, the fact that she always seemed out of reach that drove me crazy in love. She was the forbidden fruit. And men being men would always want a bite of the fruit. What we cannot have is what we want most dearly. There was no happy ending for my story. I spent a month rehearsing the perfect lines, planning for the perfect time to make my move. I was supposed to talk to her at prom. She did not show.

Looking back, I can only laugh at my own foolishness. My secret love taught me a lot. She showed me my insecurities, she gave me valuable life lessons, and she did it all in the ten minutes we actually saw each other. That is right. After a year and a half, the total times we have bumped into each other would not even amount to ten minutes. I cannot remember how she looked the first time we met. I cannot remember her smile either. But I still remember her name, and that is my secret.