"Hour of nostalgia, hour of happiness, hour of solitude"

Weekly backlogs completed. Check.

Festival long weekend. Check.

Looking at the watch every five minutes. Check.

Humming cheesy songs and giggling. Check. 

The algorithm is going perfectly. The pillows drenched by tears for four months, the frustrations, the fights, the hopeless pining, are all meticulously brewing into an intoxicating concoction. Here I sit, nervously twitching at my ring, giving my finger weird bruises. My heart skips a beat or two every three seconds. I nervously hold my breath so as to check my erratic heartbeats. He's on his way. He's coming home, from far, far away. 

While I worry and stress about what I'll wear and how I'll look and what I'll talk to him about when I meet him for the first time after all this time, I take a break and laugh a little at myself. I've never had to worry about this stuff with him. I long to tousle his (oh so long!) hair, hold his head in my lap and blush like I'm 14 again. I long to wear my smile, the one that he loves, while I make him wait for me before our dates. I long to see those frantic messages that buzz on my cell phone every ten seconds when I'm late, and to see that face break into an all-forgiving smile when he sees me. I long for him to grab my hand silently when no one's looking. I long for all those little details of my life that had gone missing while we dueled with work and education and whatnot. 

The distance isn't going away. Its a week away. But that doesn't stop us from living it up now, right? I press my ears to hear his car zoom into the colony gates. I'm sure I can hear him unload his luggage and push the lift doors open. He's home.

"Hour of nostalgia, hour of happiness, hour of solitude,

hour that is mine from among them all!"

P.S: Neruda all the way.

The little one.

Long ago, I remember wanting to have a little sister. I thought of it as sharing secrets, sharing wardrobes and having lots of girl fun together.

And yet, I was given a tiny little brother. I saw him sleep 18 hours a day. I saw him kicking and squalling as soon as he found his legs. I found tiny fingers clutching my hand to guide him whenever he felt unsure of himself. The same  fingers often tore out my hair if he didn't like what I said. I gave him pillion rides on my bicycle because he was so little for so long. I fed him his food after school when I could barely feed myself. He would snuggle beside me at nap-time and run away as soon as I'd dozed off. He would come to my class like the best kid ever to deliver his teachers' summons umpteen times. I cried afterwards and he'd point and laugh. I tried to instigate him into trying the schooltime forbidden fruit - the delectable yet questionable chuski! He would eat it and complain to mom anyway. But inspite of all that happened, I was given a gift. A gift of a person to love for all of my life.
Despite my initial disappointment at the wardrobe I couldn't share because he was a boy, I find ways to do it! And the secrets? All of them. He's the friend who is older than his seventeen years and has big brotherly advice despite being just a little boy. He's the boy who still snuggles when he feels sleepy. He's the boy who will bend my brittle nails if I scratch him accidentally and then ask mum if my nails will be okay. He's the boy who takes me out for cake voluntarily. And he's the one who'll say, "Come back home after 7 or 8 days. 3 days is too less!" He's the one whose face makes me cry at the railway station. He's the boy who's growing up so so fast and has made me crazy proud. He's the one I'll love for an eternity. ❤