I was a nerd with specs and hair tightly secured in a ponytail. There was nothing in me that would gravitate a tall, dark and super handsome 17-year-old dude to me. I would gawk at him like an idiot while he flirted with the ‘it’ girls in school. They had their skirts stitched 3 inches above the knee giving all the reasons to him for spending time and interest on them. I was a 15-year-old contending my mom for waxing my legs and threading my eyebrows. I had already spent one year eyeing him strolling the school balcony or standing outside the class for not doing his homework. I never got to share that punishment with him because I was programmed to sit with my homework every evening at 5 pm. I spent one more year glancing at his charm, silently while he enjoyed all the attention the girls with short skirts and poor grades showered on him. I knew I would never see him again, when I somehow summoned the guts to walk up to him and bid a goodbye on the farewell all teary eyed.
It’s been 15 years, but I still remember that date and time to the second. I had lived these 15 years of my life picturing what it would have been like, had I worn a shorter skirt at school and waxed my legs, every now and then.