Meeting a classmate after fifteen years carries an energy that cannot be put into words. I know this because I have experienced this energy. The unexpected moment caused a flood of old memories. The talk dug out names that were buried somewhere in the subconscious. He married once and is now separated. It wasn’t painful, he said, as everything happened before any kids could’ve complicated the matters. He had a crush in school and as a classmate whom he had told even then, it was logical to suggest him that his recent experience of divorce could be a blessing in disguise. So now he could seek truer happiness in his older dream. It made him sad as she settled down years ago and had a team of kids. Now he feels that he has to live with one regret at least, of never even talking to someone who mattered and still matters to him. He showed me a photograph of her husband commenting that her husband didn’t know how lucky of a person he was to have her. Only if he had talked to her once, life could’ve been different. But he didn’t.

Would I too have labelled a man lucky if fate somehow made him the husband of my crush from the school? My mind crashes to compute this possibility as I had no crush in school in the first place. A crush did happen however after the school ended. And that’s exactly why my friend didn’t know of it. I did talk to her. So I will not die of this regret, at least. Life gave other regrets to dip into sad songs and eat, like “biskoots” in tea. Is her husband another biskut? I don’t know. I don’t want to know. Even if that collision was extremely short lived, I am glad it happened. The possibility of someone else, including her, being as crazy as I have become to document fragments of life is near zero, but even then I am bound to be buried somewhere in the subconscious. Maybe, one day she meets an old friend of hers after fifteen years and tells her, “Kinna sohna Munda C, main aiwen nakhray kardi rahi.”