Her Quote, My Journey

Today’s was one of those cold winter mornings when the air seems to be cold and everything seems to be a little more still than it was the day before. We were at our usual table in the canteen having tea with biscuits in between while chatting with friends. We enjoyed the warmth of the tea after coming from the cold, the sound of plates slapping each other joined the faint murmurs that filled the air.

One of my friends suddenly stopped mid-sentence, his gaze fixed on the entrance. "Hey, isn’t that her?" he whispered, nudging me.

I followed his gaze, and there you were walking past the canteen tables, radiant and effortlessly graceful. You wore blue jeans and a matching top, paired with white sneakers. But it wasn’t just your outfit that caught my attention. It was the way you carried yourself confident but unassuming, as if the chaos around you couldn’t touch you.

"Who's she?" I asked, trying to sound casual, though I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

One of my friends shrugged. "No idea. But she seems familiar. She’s probably a senior."

"Definitely a senior," another chimed in. "She doesn’t carry herself like a first-year or second-year."

I stayed quiet, watching you as you walked to the counter. You had this calm presence that stood out in the noisy, bustling canteen. I couldn’t help but wonder who you were, but asking felt impossible. None of us knew for sure if you were from our batch or someone older—someone with more experience, someone worlds apart from me.

Later that evening, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Curiosity got the better of me, and I found myself scrolling through your Instagram profile. And then I saw it, the quote in your bio: "Embracing the beauty of imperfections and finding the art in the chaos."

At first, I didn’t think much of it. Another borrowed line from some famous author, I thought. It seemed like something people put in their bios to sound deep, without truly understanding the meaning. But the words lingered in my mind, and I couldn’t help but wonder: Whose quote is this?

I opened Google and typed in the words. But search after search came up empty. No matches. No attribution. Just silence.

And then it hit me. This isn’t someone else’s quote. This is hers. You had written it yourself. That realization made my heart skip a beat. It wasn’t just the depth of the words it was the fact that they were original, born from your own perspective and experiences. Suddenly, you weren’t like everyone else. You were extraordinary. The quote wasn’t just beautiful it was you. And that changed everything.

The next day at the canteen, I couldn’t hold back any longer.

"You know," I said to my friends, "there’s something about her. She’s not like the others."

One of them smirked. "Oh, here we go. You’ve got a crush on her, don’t you?"

"Shut up," I muttered, though I couldn’t deny it. "I’m just saying… she’s different. That quote in her bio it’s hers. She wrote it."

Another friend leaned forward, grinning. "So, what’s stopping you? Talk to her."

The idea alone made my chest tighten. My friends knew as well as anyone that I wasn’t the kind of guy who could just strike up a conversation. I was painfully introverted, avoiding social situations whenever I could. My struggles with autism only made things harder, turning even the simplest interactions into overwhelming challenges.

"I can’t," I said quietly. "I wouldn’t even know where to start."

One of them sighed, his tone softening. "Look, man, if she really means that much to you, you’ve got to make a change. Start with yourself. Do it for you, not just for her."

His words stayed with me. I learned that if I did not get out from the box where I confine my self, I will always sit and watch life go by. So I began working on myself. I plunged into a search of information on the specific neurological disorder, enrolled for a neuroscience class, and even opted for counselling to close the gap between my mind and my body. Indeed it was tough going but over time I started to notice a positive change. Thus, I began to attend group discussions, join group conversations, and try to actively engage in something.

Many months later, the enigma or question mark that was encased in you was finally solved. Yesterday in class, someone said your name and that you are in the same batch as them, the 2021 batch.

I froze. Wait, what? It suddenly dawned on me like a bolt from the blue. This made me realize that you were another senior and not someone who is way up there, not a stranger to our everyday failures and despair. But you weren’t. That evening, as we sat at our usual spot in the canteen, one of my friends nudged me. "So, what’s the plan now that you know she’s not a senior? You’ve come so far. Are you ever going to let her know how you feel?"

I hesitated, my heart racing at the thought. "I don’t know if I can talk to her."

"Then text her," another friend suggested, pulling out his phone. "It’s 2024. A message is all it takes."

The idea felt safer, more manageable. That night, I stared at my phone for what felt like hours, typing and retyping the message. Finally, I settled on something simple but honest.

Before I could overthink it, I hit send. And now, I wait.

The next morning at the canteen, my friends looked at me expectantly. "Did you send it?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Now I just wait."

One of them clapped me on the back. "Whatever happens, man, you’ve already won. You’ve come so far don’t forget that."

As I sit here, phone in hand, glancing at it every few minutes, I realize they’re right. No matter what your reply might be, this journey has already changed me for the better. And for that, I’ll always be grateful to you.