you and i//siddjann

north

"11 people deceased in yesterday's plane crash..." my fingers traced beneath the words induced in bold font on the morning newspaper. My parents were out on a shopping spree to buy groceries and vital consumables since they now had an extra person to look after; me. I was back home from my University for Easter holidays.

I was home alone, and it was only 10 am in the morning, so I decided to make myself comfortable. I'm usually an early riser, my healthy, metabolic self would be up and about by 8 am in the morning no matter how late I slept at night. Body clock, you see? As soon as I was up, I got ready and headed downstairs. I was excited about this holiday, which had a time stamp of 15 days, since I would finally be able to take time out and meet my friends and family. Who doesn't love a good ol' reunion after months?

Just as the front door clicked shut and my parents walked out of the house and into the garage to get into the car and drive away, I made my way into the kitchen. I grabbed a cup and made a steaming cup of hot chocolate topped with a bunch of colourful marshmellows. And then, I exited the kitchen and went down to sit in the living room. I sat down on the couch, while my hands clung tightly to my cup and saw the morning paper lying around on the table.

I skimmed through the first few pages which mostly had nothing new since I had already read the news at night on my phone. Well, the skimming was until my eyes caught hold of the plane crash headline. I genuinely felt bad for all these people. I hoped that they were at a better place now.

Under the headline, there was a list of all the names of the people who had passed away along with their recent pictures, since the media needed proper identification of the deceased by their relatives. My eyes turned to the next page, but it was too late by then. My lens had already caught the words "Siddharth Nigam". My brain said one thing but my heart said another. There was no way that it was him, right? I looked through the list and the pictures again. No more doubts, it was definitely him. His black hair stood afloat, and his hazelnut eyes were a slate hue, quick and intelligent. My brain knew that it was right, but my heart desperately wanted it to be false. There was absolutely no fricking way. I cross checked and I'm pretty sure my eyes were stuck on the same page for a really long time. And I knew this because when I went on to take a sip from my cup, the liquid inside had gotten really cold.

I did not want to look at the newspaper even for another minute. I folded it back to its original state and ran a hand through my open hair. Muffled, vague and touching memories started coming back, all at once. I heard words, I saw mental pictures and I felt things that I had felt back then.

This dates back to middle school, when I was very much new to this place, this house and this school. My father had been transferred to another branch of his world famous company and my mother and I had to tag along with him, as he travelled the world, making memories almost every single year. This time, we had to live in New Jersey, and we were told that this was most likely to be a permanent arrangement. So I was enrolled in one of the best middle schools in this place, and that's where I met him.

Siddharth Nigam, a slim, handsome guy even at the age of 11, was one among the most popular squad that consisted of six people. His group had four guys and two girls. Their friend circle was the one that everyone would wish to have one day. They were genuine people, and each one of them was close to every other team mate. This middle school had a well known contrast; there were people like Siddharth, as in, being a part of a spectacular friend circle and there were people who were lonely as fuck, like me. So, I, an introverted, shy newbie stood in front of the class on my first day as the class teacher introduced me to everyone.

For the first few days, I was titled "the new girl". And even though my fellow classmates loved calling me that name, none of them made the slightest efforts to initiate a conversation at the least. I felt as if I was an outsider, barging into a classroom where everyone knew everyone and treated everyone as one of their own. Nobody took interest in me. But Siddharth did.