Lost...

PROLOGUE

"Everyone has a passion, I guess. I had too. But the people usually have a common one. Mine was different. My passion was to write." I was giving my speech in front of the school assembly. My English teacher had arranged a speacial meeting or assembly in order to praise my poems. The poems I wrote. I continued,"Not to write a story, not even an article. I love to write poems. Today, I begin my words with the story of my past. I was about 12 years old when I had had my hindi teacher changed. She told us to try writing poems. I had started composing them. But believe me, they were as bad as hell. Still, I got appriciated for eac and every effort I put. I practiced and practiced. And, that phrase came true 'Practice makes a man perfect.'. I had starting writing good poems. But still, in Hindi. It wasn't a global language. I think a part of the world wouldn't know about the language. Then suddenly one day, I thought that why can't I write poems in English? I am most glad, to be honest, that this question cam to my mind. From that absolute day, the poems in English started continuing me. But firstly, my condition was as of my Hindi poems. I kept on writing, not worrying. One fine summer day, my then English teacher told me tobwrite a poem for the School Magazine- Excelciour. I was shocked, but as she said, I brought a poem. I still remember that topic because it changed my whole life. It was A Cleaner Mind Initiates A Better Tomorrow.
Some students gave their poems along with me. The teacher read mine, as it was on the top. She said out loud,"I am gonna read the poem as I am finding it a bit interesting." Then she started reciting it to the whole class. I realised it only when she had gone through half the poem. By the time she finished, she had all the eyes fixed on her. "Excellent! I'm proud to be your teacher, Sanyamm." She exclaimed. I was awestruck by her words. Was my poem that good? I still can remember her whole dialogues. And that day was the start of my passion. I started writing poems, at least once in a week. The next poem i wrote was of 62 lines. And several poems afterwards, I wrote this one, The Souvenir Of A Boy. Because of which I am standing here, in frontvof all of you. So, what I wanna say is, don't leave your passion. It is the only best thing you have in yourself. Believe in youself. Do what you wanna do. But don't mess things up. Follow the path, but the right one. Life only happens once. And so does every second. Learn how to take out the best out of every second. Otherwise, you are gonna regret. That gut feeling, that instinct, follow that. It would surely lead you somewhere awesome. Thanks for listening to me. I just wanted to say that. Have a nice day." I finished my speech.
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I was sitting on the green iron bench in the school ground after the assembly. Soon, I heard someone standing before me. It was Stacy. She was my best buddy at that time (I am a boy). She came and sat down nect to me. So close that I could hug her easily if I wanted. But didn't.
"You gave a wonderful speech. I am inspired."She said in a tone of encouragement.
"Thanks." I said, almost blushing. That day, our eyes met. That had happened a lot of times before. But this one time was different. Her hand was kept just beside me. I held it. She felt something. I felt something. She didn't protest. But held my hand tighter. Our fingers clenched, I clenched my hand tighter. Our fingers were intertwined