Honestly, sitting on the bench in Class 10, I myself couldn't understand why everyone called love a 'crime'! But I knew, valobasha opradh na (love isn't a crime), it's very pure. That's what I told myself every day, walking through the crowded school hallway smelling of cheap cologne and old chalk dust. I was the guy who could ace the theory of love, yet failed miserably on the Science exam paper. My heart's geometry was perfect—love is pure, intensely pure—but the real-life calculation was off. My mind screamed that I had, by mistake, fallen for the wrong person, and that realization was slowly washing away all the purity I believed in.
It was Samriana. The name wasn't just a name; it was the entire content of my morning and evening thoughts. Even though she didn't love me back, I decided I had to keep up a pointless, totally faltu attitude (worthless attitude) in front of her, just so she might grant me attention once. Think about the depth of the misery I was hiding! I would laugh and hang out in her sight, but inside, a painful dolna (swing) of heartache rocked back and forth, the rope controlled entirely by Samriana's indifference. I still love her, more than myself; but where is the loyalty in this age? Ei jugete keo loyal na! (No one is loyal in this age!) Everyone just looks at pretty girls and crush khay (gets a crush), and yeah, I did too, I'm not exempt from being human. But there was a fundamental difference: all my fleeting crushes, all the beautiful faces I saw, ended with the persistent, singular image of Samriana. Din sheshe ami oi Samriana-ke niyei vhabtam (At the end of the day, all my thoughts revolved around Samriana).
That attitude was the biggest, most exhausting act of my life. I'd stand near the water cooler, pretending to be utterly engrossed in a friend's gossip, but every single nerve ending in my body was tracking her movement across the courtyard. When Samriana walked through the school corridors near the main office, I'd pretend to look at my phone, acting like her presence meant nothing to me. But even with my eyes fixed on the screen, my peripheral vision desperately chased her silhouette. I couldn't stand it if anyone said kisu baje ktha (any bad words) about her—I'd immediately get defensive and confrontational. Life could fall apart, but my ears would not tolerate any insult directed at her name.
I knew I was an academic fail student, and I was certain she knew it too. Maybe that's why I could never build the courage to propose. If I proposed, I wouldn't have the protective shield of the 'attitude' anymore! This secret love, these words, were the most private things about my life, giving me a alai onubhuti (a different, unique feeling) that was both agonizing and exhilarating. Every action was calculated to make her see me, even if it was through contempt. Sometimes, I'd intentionally walk past her group, hoping the sheer force of my longing would break her composure. Nothing ever did. She remained an untouchable icon, constantly busy with the popular, successful students, the ones who didn't 'fail' life like me. The world around us, the noise, the gossip, it was all just background hum to the frantic drumming in my own chest. I was completely invisible to the one person I saw everywhere. And so, I waited, blindly, agonizingly, patiently waiting for the universe to give me the smallest sign, ekta chotto massage er opekhkha (waiting for a small message). That was all I had left.