I knew it even before I could turn around and confirm my hunch. It was her. And then I felt what I used to call the 'matrix moment'. Everything paused went into slow motion while I introspected about what I was seeing. She was as drenched in sweat as I was.
I couldn't help following the trail of a drop that started from her forehead, making way through the dimples of her cheeks, flowing freely along her neck. It came to me as a realization that the last words spoken before the world lost speed was a question; one that was directed at me.
'I don't know', I said. 'Of course you do', my alter ego said to myself. 'I think we are', she replied. ' I know you are. I've been looking at you since morning ', I said to myself.
'Well, I am Saswati. You're the guy who fainted, aren't you. You feel alright now? Quite a stunt you pulled there.' Half embarrassed, I could only say - 'Yeah, I'm okay.' I was so away from the rules of social engagement that I missed introducing myself completely. She had to explicitly ask for it - ' And you would be?'. 'Shankar', I answered.
'I'm assuming you're walking towards the metro station'.
'I am.'
'Good. I could do with some company.'
Before any of us could realize, we'd aligned our pace, and it seemed as if we were walking together.
'Sorry for the 'uncle' thing in the morning. I realized later when I saw you in the class.'
'Oh that's fine. It's not your fault really.' I was so glad that this necessary part of our conversation was out of the way.
The next forty meters went about in silence. Not that I wasn't thinking about how I could keep the conversation going, I was conscious instead that my speaking anything would only make the day more weird.
'So how'd you like the college?', she asked.
'Can't say much about the college. The clinic is smelly.'
'I found the people in our class quite dumb you know. And the seniors more so.'
I could see a connection in our thoughts. The more she talked, the more I saw her being more like a guy than a girl. Talking to her seemed so effortless.
'Care for a smoke?', she asked. I stood a bit befuddled.
'No..me..naah. I don't'. She nodded and bought herself one from a pan shop on the way. Call it my Indian prejudice, but smoking is the last thing you expect of a girl all of eighteen. The way she lit it up surprised me and pan-wala equally. This girl was a pro.
I started to fear that I was in bad company. Already.
