It was a hot sultry June afternoon on the streets of Aizawl. I was standing by a small kiosk sipping a Frooti. Suddenly, like a breeze, out of nowhere, I saw her walking towards me. Her long wavy hair was tied up in a pony tail with a white silk ribbon.

She was not exactly the most beautiful woman on earth; but nevertheless she was pretty. Her mouth was not exactly desirable like Angelina Jolie’s but then it was more than kissable. It was the birthmark on her cheek which made her face angelic.

She was striding on the street as if walking on air. Her legs were long enough to intertwine your body like a python wrapping itself on its victim. The jeans she wore emphasized her voluptuous body and seem to cling on for life on her hips. With a small brown shoulder bag on her arms, she seemed to convey the message that she was confident, carefree and maybe reckless.

I confess that I am timid, coward and hesitant when it comes to girls. I have kicked myself a million times for not being able to open my heart to a woman. It is not that woman do not fancy me. They love my company and I love theirs.

But the Himalayan problem starts when it comes to expressing the heart of the matter. But this time, I do not know who kicked me from behind. I ran after her. I followed her quite a distance as I watch her hips rhythmically swaying to and fro.

I don’t know how fast I was taking my stride when I realized that I had overtaken her. Suddenly I became self conscious. What will she think? Will she think my gait was funny? Or that I looked like a buffoon looking for bananas on the road?

The truth is I had gone bananas over her. My mind raced. Was I walking too fast? Is she still behind me? I dared did not turn around and look. But my heart wanted to.

Ahead, the road divided into north and south. I remembered Robert Frost’s "The Road Not Taken" which we had learnt it by heart in school. Should I take North or South? Which path will she choose? I decided this was the ultimate time.

Either I go back home with the satisfaction that I have seen a girl which my made my heart sing a song. But she would haunt me in my dreams for the rest of my life. Or I stick my feet firmly there, wait for her and strike up a conversation. I decided that I am a MAN and therefore, I should choose the second option.

I stood still on the corner of the road. Time stood still and the only thing moving in front of me was the woman with the pony tail. The gentle breeze seems to brush her with love as the strands of hair on the front played gleefully.

She saw me and for a fraction of a second our eyes met. How I wish I could be Mandrake and with my magic wand, freeze the moment forever. Only if wishes were horses, I would have ridden a thousand of them. Someone kicked me from behind again and I realized I was walking along with her.

I did not know what we were talking about. Surely, it was not the 9/11. No, it was not about Kaun Banega Crorepati nor about the height of Mount Everest. I was babbling and she was smiling and responding me.

My only wish was that the road should neither end nor the conversation. At last she stopped near a gate and told me that it was her house. She invited me for tea.

Being civilized and cultured gentlemen, I bowed down and said no. She told me to come another day and gave me her mobile number. It was a number that could change my life. It was a number which will remain etched in my heart. It was a number which I shall never share with someone. It was a number. Only a number. But it made my heart leap with joy.

As soon as I reached my room, I was torn apart trying to take the decision whether I should call her up or not. If I call her up, will she not think that I have gone bonkers over her? Will it not make her pride-graph shoot up? Will she not think that I am an immature young boy who just peed in his pants?

Or what if she was lying on the bed with starry eyes, expecting my call? If I do not call her up right now here and then, will she deduce that I am not a dude but a dud who does not have the courage of a lion? Forget it, even cats court cats. So, am I so weak I do not have the heart of a cat, forget the lion?

It was like a torture in a dark cell. Finally I decided to give myself ten more minutes before my thumb press those numbers. The waiting seems like years as my heart told me not be a coward and make the call immediately. Before my own countdown to ten minutes ended, I hastily picked up the phone.

It took just one ring when she answered. Suddenly the world was not cruel at all. We began chatting just about anything and after twenty three minutes of exchanging ideas, foolishly I said to her, “Okay then, I will come ‘morrow to your place. Make me a good tea. Goodnight for tonight.”

Since it was I who decided to end the conversation, I guess willingly or unwillingly she had to put the phone down. I kicked myself for ending the conversation abruptly when the going was smooth.

The next day I found myself at her house. Feeling that she might consider me too bold, I took along my friend Puia with me. Or maybe the real reason was that I was too timid to walk up to her gate all alone.

I took extra care and for the first time in my life I combed my hair. She made me feel at home. The tea which she made with her nubile hands was more than Wah Taj. Every single drop seems to seep slowly into my oesophagus pipe till it reached my stomach.

“You make great tea,” I said enthusiastically.

“That’s nothing. Wait till you know more about me. I could be great in other things too,” she cooed back emphasizing on the ‘other’.

I wondered why she always has the last word. Whatever I say, she responds with such answer that I am left with nothing to add. All I did was steal some glances and immediately look the other side when hers met mine.

Puia was really enthusiastic and he could not stop praising her on our way back home. A stab of jealously seemed to pierce my heart after listening to him. After all, who is he to say good or bad things about her?

After all she’s mine and I should be the one who talks about her.

— to be continued....