A Saturday afternoon:
“Sir, courier,” the guy at the door called.
I got out leisurely and received the courier. It, me getting a courier every Sunday, had been a routine for the past few weeks. The item in the courier box had also been the same – a Little Hearts biscuit pack. It’s weird, right? I know. It got me thinking for the first couple of weeks. I spent time wondering about this unknown person and about the reason for the biscuit pack. I didn’t have a clue.
“Look at the sign. It’s definitely a girl. A girl who is crazy on you to give signals through her hearts – I mean the Little Hearts,” my roommate pitched in.
“Dude, someone is messing with you. It could be a guy,” said the other munching the biscuits as fast as he could. Needless to say, he was more focused on the biscuits than on who sent it.
I stared at the box. It was signed as Anne Sandhya. The name sounded unfamiliar, no matter how hard I tried to recall.
“It must be a girl at your office only. I don’t think anyone from College or School does this after these many years,” the first guy continued. “Talk to someone close to you in your team. Or just think. There must have been some signals of sort.”
I tried hard. Either my mind didn’t work well or there weren’t any such signals that I paid attention to.
That night, I texted her asking her to come early to office on Monday. She was one of my teammates whom I trusted, and has always been an honest well-wisher to say the least.
“Hey, good morning,” I greeted her as soon as I saw her face.
She smiled. “Two minutes,” she said and went on to sit at her desk.
I waited. For ten minutes or so. She was still at her desk. My patience held good, but only for few more minutes. I wanted to get it over with before my other teammates got in. I walked to her desk and stood next to her chair. She looked at me. From what I saw, she wasn’t doing anything worthy. I didn’t care.
“Hey, I have to ask you something,” I started hesitantly. Before I could say more, our manager, Mr. Krishna, cut me off.
“Do you have a pen?” he asked her.
What the hell is he doing here at this time? I thought. Who knows, he might probably have thought the same about me too.
“Dude, I am right here. She being your right hand and all fine, but why can’t you ask me first?” It’s something I wish I asked him. But then, hey, he was the manager and I was just another team member.
As my mind was busy with such random thoughts, her hands fumbled in her bag for a few seconds. Meanwhile, something got my attention. I knew for a fact that looking into a girl’s bag was a profane thing to do, but trust me, it was accidental.
As soon as he left (only after throwing some unwarranted smiles at her,) I asked, “I didn’t mean to look, but what’s that book?”
“It is my favorite book, “The diary of a young girl.” It is a book of the writings from the dairy kept by a girl, Anne Frank, during World WAR II. I always carry it in my bag,” she said enthusiastically.
“Oh, okay,” I said and turned back.
“Wait. What did you want to talk about?”
“Nothing,” I said inconspicuously.
My mind wasn’t ready to brush it off as a coincidence and rather started connecting the dots. I remembered her fighting with me once when I strongly argued that Bourbon was the best biscuit ever made. Of course, she was on Little Hearts’ side. And then there was one more incident about our favorite Girl Names. She said her favorite was ‘Sandhya’. In case you are interested, mine was ‘Neha’.
“Sandhya? Really?” I said.
“Oye, what’s with the really emphasis?” she said, clearly feeling annoyed. “Remember the movie, ‘Love Today’ and the heroine’s name?”
“I remember the heroine. She was my sweetheart for a while, but name, no.”
“Her name was Sandhya. I loved her character. She was simple and soft. As a kid, I was impressed by her character. Hers became my favorite name since then,” she elucidated.
So, she is Anne Sandhya, the unknown who sends me Little hearts. Or could be. I wasn’t still sure then.
“Priya, you do remember that Bourbon is my favorite, no? It will be forever.” I said and walked away. We didn’t talk much for the rest of the week.
The next Saturday:
“Sir, courier,” the usual guy at my door.
I opened the box. There was a big Bourbon pack inside. My roommates said something about it. I remained deaf to their words.
I rushed to my room, closed the door behind, and dialed her number.