The Moonstruck Columns

Zoya… A Short Story (Part II)

Well it certainly sounded like an echo to me and also made me drop my pen. She was of average height, bright, fair skin, her jet black shoulder length hair was tied into a neat ponytail and she wore a full sleeved petticoat suit of the school uniform colours.

I hastily picked up my pen as she strolled inside to take her seat beside me. I lost my tongue.

She continued to scribble for the next three hours occasionally tucking her long freckles behind her ear. She wrote with her left hand and had long fingernails. Her handwriting, as I noticed, was strikingly similar to mine. I didn’t make a sound, nor did I do anything else other than steal a glance of her through the corner of my eye every once in a while and smell the beautiful perfume she was wearing. She was gorgeously stunning and I had already lost my urge to write my paper, yet I wanted to turn up for the rest of them.

The next day progressed pretty much like the first except when I helped picking up her handkerchief which she had dropped and we had both momentarily bent to pick it up and hit our foreheads instead. She thanked me politely and I too kept my manners but still didn’t find my tongue.

One more day passed the same way and it was New Year’s Eve.

New Year’s time was wonderful. I got into my dreamy shoes, like I did often, and spent most of the time thinking about her and the merry lights seemed to garnish it extraordinarily. I wished badly that she knew how I felt and came running to me like people do in movies. But my life wasn’t yet a movie, but it sure didn’t feel too far from it either.

January 3rd. It was the day of the final paper of the first segment of examinations (pre-board, as it was called) and there was a fortnight at hand before the school officials decided if they should hold a second pre-board for our revision. But for me, it could be the last time I get to spend time with her.

I arrived early and was quite determined to spark a conversation with her. So, I had it a little rehearsed in my head. She had missed her paper the previous day and I was scared if she did that again. But she didn’t…

To Be Continued…


Know The Writer!