The Bougainvillea

I know what this word means. I learnt its spelling that time. So yes, I know what it is. That time, when I used to sit by the Bougainvillea at my house. That time, which I spent; thinking, reading. That time, when I first saw you. 

I used to sit by the stairs in my garden, usually with a book (or two, if an exam was coming up!). And how the mind wanders when a line catches your fancy! No news that is. Reading this one book that day, the name of which I don’t remember, honestly, a few words caught my fancy and my brain started reeling into a flurry of thoughts; thoughts, that caused my eyes to subconsciously wander into the plantations and fixate into the Bougainvillea. A quick transference of my thoughts to the leaf-like flowers that bore on that Bougainvillea. “Those flowers. I can’t understand those flowers. Do I need to?” My mind. Always delving into over-assessment of what the eyes see. 

But then you walk by. No assessment. Nothing registers. Just a quick eye contact, not even a hint of a smile, not on the lips, not in the eyes. Nothing. Just an eye contact, a picture that my brain was informed of, a sensation that my nerves weren’t aware of, a feeling that I couldn’t have expressed, but a knowing joy that I was swept with. Knowing, that you are a stranger to me, so am I to you. Knowing, that there are more strangers I can share this connection with, so can they with me. Knowing, that strangers aren’t strange to me now, so will I not be to them. 

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