Ch 11: My Lady in Green

A new place, a new story. But this one was different—this one was special.

It was the season of winter, February's cold wrapping the city in its usual crisp air. And then, amidst that winter chill, I saw her smile for the first time. A small glimpse, barely a fraction of a second, but it changed something inside me. In true Bollywood style, songs started playing inside my head. I wanted to dance, to celebrate a feeling I had never experienced before.

I couldn't concentrate on anything after that. As the class ended, I tried to find her again, to see that smile one more time, but luck wasn't on my side. Over the weekend, all I could think about was her—the way she looked, the way that smile had sparked something unfamiliar yet intoxicating in me.

Determined, I used every last bit of my mobile data scouring Facebook to find her profile. The funny part? I hadn't even seen her face properly yet. And yet, when I finally stumbled upon it, my heart whispered, This is it.

With trembling fingers, I sent her a friend request. For the first time in my life, I was scared of something as simple as a notification. Would she accept it? Would she ignore it? The wait felt like an eternity, but after a day or two, she did accept. That was the beginning.

At first, our chats were nothing but class-related—safe, neutral, and devoid of anything personal. I was too afraid to talk to her in person, always trying to act indifferent in class while secretly stealing glances. Then, one fine day, she walked in wearing a green salwar kameez with intricate floral embroidery. She looked flawless. My usual hesitation melted away, and before I could overthink, I blurted out a compliment about her beauty. That one moment changed everything—our conversations grew deeper, longer, and more personal.

I was in love. Not just a crush, not just admiration—deep, consuming love. Something I had never felt before.

She was different, divine even. Her deep black eyes told stories I wanted to listen to forever. Her pink cheeks, her delicate dimples, her majestic black hair that danced effortlessly in the air—every little detail about her seemed almost unreal. She was a supermodel in Western dresses, a cool lady in casual wear, and an absolute goddess in sarees.

I still remember Pohela Boishakh, the Bengali New Year, when she wore a white and red saree embroidered with golden patterns. That day, she wasn't just beautiful—she was a vision. She was everything poetry tries to capture but never quite succeeds.

She had big dreams. She wanted to become a lawyer, to make a mark in the world. I, on the other hand, wanted something simpler, something less defined. Still, our friendship grew. Our long conversations, our moments after class, our stolen seconds during lectures—all of it made me believe she felt the same way.

Then came the day I confessed my feelings. I was ready to give her my heart, my time, my everything. She listened, smiled softly, and said she needed time to think. That she wanted to focus on her career first.

I respected that. So, I waited.

I waited for ten years.

A decade of silent longing, of hoping, of walking 99 steps toward her, waiting for her to take just one step toward me. But she never did. She never made an effort, never truly fought for us. And in the end, I realized something heartbreaking—she had never been sure of her feelings for me. I had been the only one holding onto something that never really existed.

One day, she moved abroad for her law degree. That's when we finally had the conversation that had been a long time coming. Over the phone, we talked. No fights, no bitterness—just an understanding that this chapter had to end. We broke up in style, with no hard feelings.

But she had left me with something invaluable—inspiration.

She was the reason I found my true calling as a writer, as a poet, as an artist. And for that, I immortalized her in my words. I wrote an entire book titled "My Lady in Green," because no matter what happened between us, she would always be the one who awakened the writer in me.