Remembering the Little Things Like That

Photo by Thomas AE on Unsplash

He still remembered that day like it was yesterday.

He was limping his way to the classroom. It was slow and painful and slightly embarrassing, to be honest. His calf hurt and the callously applied bandage did little to mask the wound that graced the inside of his trousers with every step he took. Finding a seat unoccupied at the very front desk was a relief and he sat down, ignoring the jibes from the classmates nearby.

He was used to it. The snarky whispers and sneering comments were the ones that scornfully adorned the hall of fame of his college life. He was different and wasn’t ashamed of it. He disliked most of the people he had to sit with every day, and didn’t socialize unless forced. It made him an outlier. An anomaly among the regular, easy-going fun kids.

He didn’t bother going for lunch since the next class was in the same room. It was easier and less painful to quell his hunger than having to deal with the other pain. It was then that he was shaken off his thoughts when a throat cleared beside him.

“You were walking funny when you came in. Everything alright?”

“Yes,” he automatically replied, not wanting to deal with another insensitive comment. That did the job and to his relief, the girl that the voice belonged simply shook her head and walked out of the classroom. However, much to his shock, fifteen minutes later, the same girl walked in with a tray in her hand.

“Thought you might like something.”

She had brought him a tray of food from the cafeteria.

That was the first lunch they’d had together. That simple act of kindness had changed the way he saw his own life. It was the foundation that had led to him standing there.

That same throat cleared again. He blinked and looked up. And then paused. And then blinked again.

The effect was instantaneous. He was mesmerized. She was so beautiful that he felt as if his head had taken the jump to lie down with his heart and admire her forever. He wanted desperately to say something, something that expressed how elated he felt seeing her like this. It was fruitless, however. In his dazed mind, he vaguely registered her complaining something about there being too many people. And just like that, his mind jolted back.

The audience was filled almost to the capacity of the large hall. He stole another glance and saw a frown marring her face, and he could feel how hard she was trying not to bite her lip. Remembering the little things like that made his heart ache.

Her dress was magnificent and her grace, earth-shattering; but above all, her smile was beauty personified. And when she looked at him again, he appreciated them all with a smile of his own as he stepped back from the dias.

But when her eyes glowed as she moved to stand at the centre, and both their smiles grew together, he began to hope that she knew. And just like that, like him, she said nothing.

Some words were exchanged. He refused to call them vows even in his mind. He was bitter now, and he hated himself for it. Angry tears threatened to spill as he refused to meet her eyes again. But that didn't mean he couldn't see the rest of her. And as he retracted his steps to the back of the hall, he saw that she was biting her lip again, her tell tale sign of unsurety.

Remembering the little things like that made his heart ache. But how he wished it would never go away.