To Be Continued...

TWENTY SIX

I woke up earlier than usual today, not because I had anything important to do, but because I needed to see her. It had become my routine—logging into class before anyone else, pinning Harini’s screen, and just watching her. She didn’t know, of course. How could she? I was just another face in a sea of students, another name on a list. But to me, she was everything.

I don’t know when it started, this obsession of mine. Maybe it was the first time I heard her voice, or the first time I caught a glimpse of her on the screen. She was… perfect. Way too perfect for someone like me. Every time I looked at her, I was reminded of how out of my league she was. She had that kind of beauty that made you stop and stare, like a piece of art that you knew you could never afford.

But I couldn't stop myself. Every day, I logged in, and every day, I pinned her on my screen. I watched her as she wrote in her notebook, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating. It became the highlight of my day, the thing I looked forward to the most.

At first, it was harmless—or at least that’s what I told myself. I wasn’t bothering her; I wasn’t even talking to her. I was just… admiring her. But as the days went by, it started to feel like something more. I began to realize just how far out of my league she really was. She was too pretty, too poised, too… everything. There was no way she didn’t have someone in her life. And even if she didn’t, what chance did I have? I wasn’t good enough for someone like her. I didn’t deserve her.

But even knowing that, I couldn’t stop. Every time I saw her, it was like I was seeing her for the first time. And the thought of not seeing her—of losing that small piece of happiness—was unbearable. The holidays were approaching, and I couldn’t breathe at the thought of not seeing her for a week. It was like someone was squeezing the life out of me.

And that’s when I did something… stupid. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help myself. I started recording her. Just a few seconds at first, but then it became a habit. I’d watch the recordings whenever I missed her, which turned out to be all the time. When I was at home, I’d watch her on my phone. When I was out, I’d imagine her sitting on the back of my bike, riding with me. I’d see her in the passenger seat of my car, smiling at me, her hair blowing in the wind. Even when I was playing baseball, I’d imagine her in the stands, cheering me on. It was crazy. I was going crazy. But I couldn’t stop.

My parents noticed I was different, that I wasn’t moping around like I used to. They thought I was finally moving on from Scarlett and Sherman, that I was getting better. In a way, I was. I wasn’t thinking about them anymore, I wasn’t hurting over what they did to me. But what they didn’t realize was that I wasn’t getting better. I was just getting lost—lost in Harini.

I knew I shouldn’t let this go on, that I should stop before I got in too deep. But the more I tried to pull away, the deeper I sank. I was hooked, addicted to her, and I didn’t know how to let go. I didn’t even know if I wanted to.