Read Anveshna- The search :: Summer Break Story

Whatever, I continued reading the letters -

"Till this point of time, I had some doubts. Like, is it… what is this feeling? Is it love? Is it attraction? Is it for something else? But you know, let me tell you two examples. And one of them is what I was dragging from the before(the summer break twist)—I don't think I dragged it enough so that it broke. So let me open up now, without dragging it much anymore.

Let me begin with the first one.

Once, what happened was, in 9th class, a normal day, normal classes were going on, everything was normal—until the boy beside my row suddenly said his name out loud. Like—just out of nowhere. His friends said it too. And after hearing his name, my heart literally skipped a beat. My body temperature started rising, my ears began turning red—like properly red—and I swear, the hottest air I had ever felt started coming out of them. My heartbeat got louder and louder.

Just because of a name. Someone’s name.

It was the first time something like that happened to me. And I was trying so hard to calm myself down. But at that moment, I didn’t understand what was going on. What was that sudden rush? What could trigger that much… everything… in a person, just from hearing someone’s name?

And the second one happened in the summer holidays. We booked a travel agency to go visit temples across the country—somewhere between ten and fifteen days. So we were all called to the van, right? The one where people like us, who booked the package, were gathered. And the journey began.

Now from the very beginning of the trip, the very beginning—I poked my head out of the window, just for air—and that’s when I saw someone boarding an auto nearby. And I froze.

I was like—oh my god, it’s him!

But you know what? It wasn’t him. It was just someone who looked like him. I understood that only after like 10 or 20 glances back—and everyone in the van was just staring at me like “What’s your problem?”

I told myself—okay, chill, we all make mistakes.

But that same evening, we reached some small village to rest. I was sitting in the middle seat and looking through the front glass (yeah, the same glass the driver sees through). The headlights flickered on and off—and that’s when I saw a boy riding a bicycle.

And I swear, when the light hit his face, it was him.

I rubbed my eyes. Looked again.

Not him.

And again, the same thing. At the first temple, after darshan, I saw someone taking a photo. Looked exactly like him. I went back and forth a little to confirm—again, not him. Then near the Another temple, while we were in line for darshan, I heard a voice—his voice—and I turned around immediately.

Again, not him.

During the whole journey—wherever I went—I kept mistaking people for him. 10, 15, maybe more. Even after we came back, one day I was somewhere completely different—some area that had nothing to do with the ones he was connected to—and even there, in an auto’s backside seat, I saw someone and thought it was him.

I was like—what is wrong with me? This kind of thing happens only in movies. Like in that movie 24, remember? Where the heroine says “Recently I am seeing you everywhere.” And the hero says “Because when you are in love with someone, your eyes only want to see them in everyone.”

I thought that was filmy. Unreal.

But it was happening. To me.

I started wondering—am I sick? Is this some brain thing?

Then I read somewhere that when we remember someone a lot, our brain starts associating people with similar traits—like height, voice, walk, eyes, smell—and tries to map them to that person.

That’s when I realized—those people I was mistaking for him… they had something of his. Voice, height, eyes, dressing sense—something.

And these two things—these two events—they made me realize one thing clearly.

I may not know what he felt for me. But I can say for sure—I was very deeply interested in him. And maybe… maybe he was also interested in me. I think so. Especially from those 10+ interactions we had.

He used to act like me just to grab my attention—remember the second encounter? I know he liked me.

And maybe… we both liked each other.

What do you think?

Oh, sorry—I forgot one funny thing. You know what the funniest part is?

There was even this little boy I once saw, and I thought it was him.

Wanna know why?

He had dimples.

And the person I liked… he had dimples too.

That was enough for my brain to trigger the illusion."

You know, I always thought that quote was dumb—
the one about “small things start wars.”

Really? Wars? Over something tiny?
I used to roll my eyes at it.

But now I get it.
Because all it took was one small word to start a war inside me.

Dimples.

That’s it. That was the trigger.
Like the whole letter could’ve said anything—anything—and I’d have been fine.
But that word? That stupid, innocent word?
It ripped the floor right out from under me.

Surya’s crush—(you remember, Episode 1, the girl he wanted dating advice for?)—
she had dimples too.

And now my mother—
this woman writing to me as if she’s just telling a story—
drops the same word like a casual bomb.

So what? She married her childhood crush.
So what? He liked her back.
So what? She ended up with the one who made her ears burn, her chest race, her brain spin illusions.

Does that make her some grand success?
Does that make me a failure?

No.

But my head was pounding.
For two whole days, I kept rereading those letters like a lunatic—
over and over, like maybe if I squinted hard enough,
I’d find some other meaning.
Like I hadn’t already understood exactly what she meant.

And she had written clearly—she’d be out for a week.

So I waited.
Five more days.

Didn’t scream. Didn’t throw the letter. Didn’t let it show. I came to the hall and acted normal. Even smiled. Even helped with something small.

But inside?

My head was a total mess. A firework of anger, confusion, jealousy, heartbreak, and something I couldn’t even name.

I was ready. The moment I saw her—I was ready to tell her everything. Or nothing. Or scream. Or leave. Or laugh. Or cry.

I didn’t know.

But I knew one thing.

That letter didn’t heal anything.

It only triggered me.

Why dimples?

Of everything she could’ve remembered—his handwriting, the way he walked, the way he looked up at her from a floor below—she picked dimples?

Like, yeah. Sure. Great. Let’s make this about some accidental muscle indentation now.

Is that it?
If your face doesn’t fold at the right angles when you smile, you’re disqualified from romance?

Seriously?

I don’t have dimples.
That girl does.
Maybe that’s why I heard Surya say it too once—“Her dimples are cute.”

Of course.
Of course, he did.
Like it’s a personality trait.

Is this the criteria now?
Cute = muscle defect.
Rest of us? Background noise.

I’m not mocking.
I swear, I’m not.
But… what about normal faces?

The ones that don’t come with packaging perks or dented cheeks?
Are we not cute? Not worthy of being looked at twice?
Do we not get a chapter in someone’s memory?

Enough of this crap.

Enough with letters that pretend to heal me, only to dig deeper.
Enough with nostalgia dressed up as wisdom.

When she returns, I swear—
I’ll throw these letters right at her feet and ask straight up:

What do you actually want from me?

Because I can’t keep doing this—
Reading about your silent romance like they’re puzzles I have to solve
while slowly losing pieces of my own.

Why does everyone in my life come in the name of healing
but end up breaking me just a little more?

Is that the secret?
Break me on repeat, and then market it as “personal growth”?

No.

Not today.
Today I’m allowed to be mad.
Ugly-face, no-dimple, overthinking, half-shattered kind of mad.

And I’ll wear it like armour.