It was the programming lab. The pairs which were formed in first year, including that of Akshat and Suhasi, were still holding true.
“Send me the code,” I whispered just to make me heard to Akshat. Since first year I have been running the same program Akshat runs.
After a long wait of 15 minutes I got the code but it had nothing to do with the given program.
I compiled it. A black screen appeared asking me to type any number. I did.
“Do you love me?” an output popped up.
I was stunned; probably the same way she got one and half year ago.
I pressed ‘Enter’ again.
Another message appeared on screen.
“Of course you do. Jaayega kaha…”
I pressed Enter again, this time so hard in excitement that the key couldn’t recover and it kept printing on screen:
“I love you too…”
“I love you too…”
“I love you too…”
…
…
…
I had to close the program. It was not only I but also Suraj, who was sitting beside me, staring at this unusual output the program had given. When I looked at the side where Akshat and Suhasi were sitting, Akshat gave me an ugly looking flying kiss and for a moment I thought it was a joke. But a few seconds later Suhasi looked at me with her smile, which I was noticing after a long time, as if trying to complete what we had left incomplete at that mall.
It might be a cliché but so true that with time we tend to start taking things for granted. There was a time when she first came to me to ask whether we can go on an outing. That day I kept thinking about her until I fell asleep. The day I got her phone number I woke up early next morning, which was a holiday, just to check whether her message awaiting any reply.
I am afraid but all this excitement seems like been eroded with time. Sometimes I don’t pick her calls; don’t reply to her pings because everything seems like ‘it is meant to be here’. But this diary has spruced up my heart all over again. She had forbidden me to bring her a present the day when we had first planned to meet outside the boundaries of college and I took her words so seriously that I didn’t bring her any present till now.
So the next Sunday would be a surprise for her.
My thanks to you diary and accept my apologies because once again you are going to be deserted as no matter how many words I write, writing a diary would still seem to me as a stupid idea.
END…