Not a dedication-3

“Aren’t you afraid that people will get to know too much about you when they read your thoughts on paper?” I was asked.

I thought about the guy from school who sat on the last bench. He didn’t sit there because he wanted to be a back-bencher, because you know, it was considered ‘cool’. And probably still is. He was put there because of how extremely tall he was! I always considered myself to be the one who noticed his height first, much before the others did. After all, I was the only one who smiled at him long before he became what he became. I don’t know why girls are so obsessed with tall guys but I sure was one of them and also quite an early bird at such things! It was awkward when we stood in the assembly line, next to each other. I was definitely not the tallest girl around but I managed to be so unpunctual that I was the last one to join the prayer always. I never understood why his basketball skills were more appreciated than his voice was, it had often made me tilt my head slightly towards his side whenever we sang the numerous songs we were forced to sing to perfection. We were never friends, him and me. Just classmates who nodded at each other whenever we passed each other in the corridor until that stopped too, after he became the popular kid girls flocked towards and I turned into a recluse, hiding behind my imagination, delving deeper into the isolation that inspired me to write. I returned to the present and smiled before I responded to the question that was posed.

“No. If the people to whom I silently dedicate my works knew that what I wrote were intended towards them or were about them, I would be in big trouble! As for being too open about myself, I’m sure all my secrets are safe with me because people fail to see the truth that is right in front of them and like to chase after difficult tasks.” 

“Are you sure?” he asked, doubtfully.

I took a long glance at him. He was still the tallest guy I had met. He still remained insecure about his true self and of others’, it seemed. He was unlike the other guys.The first one I had fallen for. The best of the lot, in fact. And he still did not know!

“Very.” I replied, smiling to myself.

Because writers are not always liars since they have the ability to convince you that the truth, which is often hidden in plain sight, is a product of their imagination. But the above piece of fiction remains fictional, hence the title!

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