Paper and Planes

Below is a story (at the risk of sounding slightly over my head) that I am a personal fan of. J SO despite my own initial intuition after months of consideration, I have finally put it up. Let me know what you think! J

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.

 

I am furiously typing something sitting at my desk. Having that alt tab set to open my mail window if need be. You are just a few feet away from me, lost in your work, and definitely in oblivion to what I am doing. I pen down a few words. I don’t know if they will ever see the light of the day. I start with the very basics.

I love you.

I look at you again, furtively, and think I can do better than I love you. Like offer some justification. I know there is no justification for this. It’s an inexorable feeling. But I try to think from your point of view.

I think you are pretty. Pretty is a dainty girly word I know. But I have a distinct feeling you are not very typically manly.

This sounds like a letter going to the dustbin if I ever print it. But I think of the thing I read in the morning, about the apocalypse being a symbol of not procrastinating things, that today might just be the last day to confess anything and everything and I decide I will be printing this. And personally handing out to you. To hell with the anonymous letter kept on desk plan. I don’t want you to assume anyone except me wrote this pathetic excuse for a love letter. It is a pathetic excuse. Excuse reminds me, I need to elaborate on my justification for my love.

I mean, maybe you are manly, you have a strong manhood. I meant this in a very non dirty way. My point is, if you ever look into the mirror and hear yourself speak, and review your own code, you will know why I love you. I mean, isn’t all of it just a perfect combination. And I love perfect, I am a strong proponent of perfection. This is one of the reasons I love you.

Wow, that suffices it for the justification part. I mean, it does sound like an inebriated musing of a high school cheer leader on the first reading, but I will edit it and pick out the important points later. Like ‘pretty’. What else do I say? Oh yes, about myself. How could I forget an introduction? Not that you don’t know me. But I guess that laconic interactions on frameworks interspersed with talks about the new keyboards and monitors and phones don’t really count for much of an indirect introduction. If one were to derive any knowledge of me from that chit chat, it would be a single line – ‘I am a geek, openly.’ I think we deserve better introductions, I guess I am thinking we since my pushy, upright self- propagating mental angel counterpart is also thinking with me.

I know your knowledge about me doesn’t go beyond this office. And ideally, it’s perfect. But since this feels like some kind of a confession letter, you know, cause I started with the I love you thingy, I guess I owe you one. Don’t bother about your introduction. I would love to have one, but I have the facts with me:

Zodiac sign – Pisces

Age- one year and 3 months and 3 days younger than me (that’s kind of a turn on, and in pretty much under the limit before someone starts calling you Mrs. Robinson)

Girlfriend – none. But in pursuit of one. Maybe not that actively.

Hobbies – computer games, making and playing them

… you get the gist now, just quoting Facebook. What I do know about you other than this is your impeccable adherence to schedule for everything. Your personal schedule, that is, 12 pm office, 1, lunch, 2 back again, and 9, leaving. I know you like Lemon tea a lot. You love to talk in a different accent with our boss, but the difference is so slight in words like ‘yeah’, I think he barely notices it. I have been meaning to tell you since a while about this, to not make that extra effort. Oh wait, I think I need to introduce myself too. I can ramble on for pages and pages, but I’ll try to make it short.

Female, slightly older, thinks she is pretty, loves reading, and loves writing (didn’t you guess this by now?), can speak Italian and broken Spanish, hates Lemon tea, but doesn’t mind people who love lemon tea.

I don’t think anyone can mortify themselves in their introductions if they are careful. But I manage to. ‘CHUCK IT AND CARPE DEIM’ I read this on my desk wall. This relives me of the prospect of mortification. I think this is long enough for a letter and the only thing which remains is to sign it off. Print first and sign it off. I hit two copies, since if a document is important, the least you do is take two copies. And this is no other document. This is my heart, digitally typed and now will be physically signed. Heart, pituitary gland, that particular center of the brain, whatever you call it, it’s anything but a normal document, that’s my point.

I look at the physical copy now. This could make or break everything. Hence I sign it. No confident female gives second thoughts to signing love letters. So its justified I think. I don’t know what madness in their heads makes them actually deliver it to the right guy though. I sit at my desk, reading my signed thing for ten minutes, rereading, reconsidering. A slow voice in my head says in a very wise tone ‘Was it worth the bark of the tree which made this paper, to be covered with words which would never really be read by the right person?’ I think maybe it was worth it, for the fun of it at least. Also, the letter could be entered into worst love letter competitions. And win prizes.

It’s one in the afternoon already and I watch you with letter in hand, lost in oblivion. Typing away feverishly. I wish so desperately you could read my mind. Like at least one word. I look back at the paper in my hand and reread it one more time, surprised by my ruthless audacity. It’s pitiable. I wonder if I remember origami. I start making an aero plane out of it. I am about to fly it now. I think it will be an embellishment to my desk.

“Is that a paper plane now? “

I turn around to see you interrupting my reverie.

“Yes”

 I wish you I could make you read it.

You briskly take it from my hand and start inspecting it.

I wish I could snatch it back!

I will myself to retrieve it from you. But I don’t know what kind of seizure holds back my hand, what makes me mum. There is a loud logical voice in my head saying –

‘This is suicide by mortification’.

I feel I should stop you from reading it. But I let you read, I don’t know what is stopping me from at least speaking up.

You look at me. I think I am having a cardiac arrest. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I finally snatch back the letter. I could say something to save whatever last shreds of dignity I have but I can’t find words. I just stare at you and you stare back. And then the unthinkable happens. You lean in.

I can feel your breath. We are too close. Alarm bells have started creating a cacophony in my head. But I don’t care. I pretend not to hear. This moment is too precious. Your lips meet mine briefly. I smile and I feel you smile. You get back to standing and walk away with a slight swagger. Mean a while I try my best to stop myself from swooning and use that extra blood from my rabbit like heartbeat to turn around. I see a ping. It’s from you -

I feel the same.

You are typing something

But I am bad at letters

You are again typing something

So I showed it to you this way

I reply – ‘I like this way too. The letters could wait for a while’

You reply -

No, I love letters :D

Me: Okay.

You: From tomorrow?

Me: What?

You: A letter every day?

Me: That’s a lot of paper

Me: Maybe we can make planes out of them

I turn around and see you and say ‘I love paper planes’

‘And they lead to happy endings you know’

And I know they do. 

 

Disclaimer part 2: This is a work of fiction, I promise :P.

Thanks you for reading!

Let me know what you think, links to comment and follow my blog are below. J