Epic College Love Stories: A Journey of Unexpected Connections
I caught Mahesh making hilarious faces from the last bench, and just like that, my confidence took a nosedive. The whole class erupted in laughter, leaving me standing there like a court jester, the punchline to some cosmic joke. My cheeks burned with embarrassment as Prof Nair’s face flushed a deep shade of crimson, his patience obliterated by the disruption.
“With this attitude, you guys are never going to get a job,” he fumed, his voice slicing through the lingering chuckles. “Mark my words, you need to improve for your own good.”
The laughter died abruptly, replaced by a heavy silence as he stormed out of the room. I slunk back to my desk, my thoughts spinning around what Prof Nair must think of us. The idea of his low opinion freaked me out, gnawing at my self-esteem.
In our class, the Maharashtrian girls seemed to idolize the Outside Maharashtra boys, a fact that drove us crazy with jealousy. They had a huge fan following, and we despised it. We’d tease and embarrass the girls whenever we caught them chatting with those guys, which only made them more wary of talking to us. Maybe that’s why I was still single—too much pride, not enough charm. My heart, however, had a mind of its own, always ready to fall for a girl at the drop of a hat. It was both a blessing and a curse, something I couldn’t exactly brag about. My friends often asked if I’d be the same after marriage, and I’d just brush them off, claiming I lived in the present, not in some distant, hypothetical future.
The routine of lectures at Gurukul resumed, but I was never the type to enjoy attending them. I went because I had to—especially since skipping class meant a hefty fine of 200 rupees. I’d started saving money to avoid asking Aai for more. My partners in crime, Pruthvi and Shiva, and I occupied our usual spot at the last bench, where we spent more time rating the girls than paying attention to the lessons. None of the professors had a good opinion of us. We were the type who crammed the night before exams and somehow scraped through. By the third year of Engineering, I was ready to fall in love—really fall in love—but the universe seemed to have other plans.
We lived in a spacious bungalow, part of which we rented out. “Avinash , would you like some kadi?” Aai asked.
“Nako, Aai. I’m full,” I replied with a smile.
Aai mentioned that a new family had moved into the ground floor.
“Aai, when did they arrive?” I asked, suddenly interested.
“They’re already in,” she called from the kitchen. “They’re Jains.”
“What? Jains?” I repeated, the word sparking a flicker of hope in my heart. Jains, I knew, often hailed from North India. Maybe, just maybe, our new tenants had a beautiful daughter.
I flopped onto the couch and grabbed the TV remote, but my mind was already drifting to the potential of meeting this mysterious Jain girl. Aai joined me, ruffling my hair as she asked how college was going.
“Chaan!” I replied quickly, barely paying attention.
As we talked, she mentioned the new tenants again. “Their family is like ours,” she said.
“Ours?” I echoed, curious.
“They have two children—a son and a younger daughter,” she explained.
“Younger daughter?” I murmured to myself, now fully intrigued. The urge to meet this girl was growing stronger, emotions swirling inside me that I couldn’t quite articulate.
“Am I getting a bit desperate?” I wondered, but the next day, I couldn’t help myself. After spending Saturday with my best friends, trekking and hanging out, I returned home, exhausted but eager. Aai greeted me with her usual warm smile, and I returned it with one just as bright.
I quickly freshened up, determined to finally meet the Jain girl. I spent extra time in front of the mirror, making sure every hair was in place. I chose my favorite black round-neck t-shirt and blue jeans, knowing that first impressions were everything.
In my mind, North Indian girls were always pretty and beautiful. “Aai, I’m going to the park,” I announced, though my real destination was the new tenants’ porch.
I stood frozen on the staircase, my heart pounding like a drum as I stared at the girl who had just turned around. She was not at all what I had envisioned. Instead of the flawless North Indian beauty I’d conjured up in my daydreams, I was met with an unexpected sight.
Her face was marked by faint scars that told a story of past struggles, and there was a certain strength in her gaze that defied her delicate appearance. She had a kind of raw, authentic beauty that was both surprising and captivating. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, and she wore a simple Salwar Kameez that highlighted her slender, graceful figure.
For a moment, I was taken aback, feeling a pang of guilt for my previous assumptions. My eyes met hers, and she looked equally surprised to see me. I fumbled for words, trying to disguise my initial shock with a friendly smile. May be I was shy! I never uttered a word but my eyes sensed her beauty.
I could not stop thinking about her as I walked towards my classroom.
“Hey Pruthvi,” I greeted him with excitement.
“Hello Avi, what’s up?” he responded, looking curious.
“You won’t believe it—I’ve met someone new, and I think I’m in love. It’s like butterflies are dancing in my stomach,” I confessed.
Pruthvi raised an eyebrow and grinned. “I can guess what you’re thinking. I know you pretty well, Avi,” he said with a knowing wink.
“No, it’s not like that. I really want to marry her,” I insisted, feeling serious.
Pruthvi cleared his throat and replied, “Falling for someone at first sight? That’s usually just infatuation, Avi. It’s a fleeting feeling.”
“My feelings for her aren’t a passing fancy. It’s not a ‘one-night stand’ type,” I sang a line from my favorite song, “O janna, love you, miss you, har lamha.”
Pruthvi chuckled and said, “Stop with the drama. Let’s get to the lecture.”
Determined to impress her, I spent the day searching for tips on Google. As I relaxed on my balcony with a cup of tea, I saw her again. She was out retrieving her clothes from the line. I watched her, hoping she would notice me, but she didn’t. My favorite song, “Tujhe Meri Kasam,” played softly in the background:
“Wo hua jo pehle kabhi na hua,
Kahi bhi dil na lage ye tune aisa kya kiya,
Har chehre me ab tu hi tu aati nazar he,
Ye mast hawa teri khushbu lati idhar he,
Shishe me mere he saya tera, itna na sata O sanam.”
The song felt like it was echoing my own emotions. I was so distracted that I couldn’t focus on my studies or complete my assignments. All I wanted was to dream about her.
The next morning, I approached Pruthvi again.
“Pruthvi! How’s it going, buddy?” I greeted him with a hug.
“Doing great! Why the long face? Did her brother give you a hard time?” he joked.
“Listen, I really need to talk to her. I’m at a loss. Any ideas?” I asked, genuinely frustrated.
“If you really like her, you need to have the courage to speak up—like Maddy from RHTDM,” Pruthvi advised.
“But what if she tells her parents? My dad would go through the roof,” I said, feeling anxious.
Pruthvi responded with some wise words, “Pyaar karna to darna nahi, aur darna to pyaar karna nahi. And if you’re afraid of love, it won’t be much fun, my friend.”
“Alright, I’ll figure something out. Let’s head to class,” I said, trying to stay optimistic.
I began missing her more with each passing day, having seen her only twice in a week. Her family seemed very strict. I wasn’t trying to cause any trouble; I just wanted to find a beautiful girl for me and my family. The man who marries her would be truly fortunate.
One evening, I saw her walking in front of her house after dinner. Maybe her mother’s cooking was the reason she was taking a stroll. I watched her from a distance as she walked back and forth. To me, it felt like an angel had appeared just for me to admire. All I wanted was for her to glance my way and acknowledge my presence. I wanted her to know that a devoted admirer was watching her.
Summoning all my courage, I finally decided to say a simple “hi.”
