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Those were the days…

when I was sixteen.

Sixteen.

An age where love

doesn’t knock.

It just climbs through the window

and rearranges your heartbeat.

The bloom of love was sprouting.

Letters upon letters.

Poems upon poems.

Ink was cheap.

Courage was expensive.

She didn’t care.

Or maybe she did.

Maybe she smiled

at some of my rhymes

secretly…

out of my sight.

School?

School was just a medium.

Coursebooks were excuses.

Mathematics on the desk…

poetry in my head.

I watched her

from the side benches.

Always from a distance.

I never got to sit beside her.

She was always surrounded.

Her bodyguards.

Not muscular.

No gym memberships.

Just synchronized frowns

sharp enough

to keep boys like me

in our assigned seats.

That was alright.

Beautiful flowers

stay between thorns.

But truth is…

they were good girls.

They never pricked me.

They just followed

the sacred constitution

of best friendship.

Ironically,

they were the ones

who carried my messages.

Cryptic messages.

Codes only she could decode.

And crush…

what a dangerous, beautiful word.

They cross your path.

They crush your dreams.

They bridge your heart.

They seize your feelings

like emotional pickpockets.

Whenever the teacher asked a question

my hand was the first in the air.

Not because I knew the answer.

But because

I needed to exist

in her line of sight.

Even if the answer was wrong.

Even if a stick corrected my confidence.

I wanted to be first.

First pick.

First love.

First love…

is a sweet trick.

The heart plays games

and calls it destiny.

First Valentine’s Day.

I brought greetings.

Small gifts.

Bought with money

saved from skipping lunches.

Hunger in the stomach.

Hope in the chest.

And then…

Torn apart.

Right in front of me.

Paper falling like defeated birds.

And strangely…

it was beautiful.

Because it was her hands.

Tender hands.

If someone must tear your feelings,

let it be the one

who planted them.

Painful enough to be sweet.

Sweet enough to be painful.

Strong enough

to let emotions run wild

like untied shoelaces

on a running heart.

Now when I remember those days…

I don’t feel embarrassed.

I don’t feel angry.

I feel sixteen again.

And somewhere inside this grown body…

that boy

is still standing up first

when love asks a question.