It was a perfectly ordinary day. Just one of those days that go by unnoticed, like the hundreds of people you pass by everyday without paying any attention, without realizing they have a life just like you, and to them you're another random passerby. There isn't a lot I remember about the day. It is probably two, may be two and half years since then. It wasn't raining. It wasn't particularly sunny, nor was it cold. It is never too cold where I come from. There wasn't anything interesting to take away from the classes that day. I don't remember what I had for lunch. I don't even remember what I was wearing. I don't remember most conversations I had that day. In fact, I don't remember anything but a single montage.
No words. We were just walking. Next to each other. No, not hand in hand. I never got to do that. I hadn't realized how much I have walked around inside the campus. I can't describe how much but if you asked my 5 year old self I would be complaining a lot because it was too much walking.
There is always something to talk about, nothing in particular, nothing about anything significant. Just something, exchange of words which just reassure you that there's a conversation going on here and you're a part of it.
We walked. A lot. May be we were walking in circles, through the same places, over and over again. We smiled, a lot. You know when you cross the road with your parent and they instinctively hold out their hand for you to grab? It was something like that. I still remember everything about those few minutes, perhaps longer, only that I can't pin point what it is. Why do words fail to capture certain things? It is like the familiar smell of lunch being cooked on a Sunday. It is everything you grew up with, every weekend, yet you cannot describe. You can only close your eyes and let the memory wash through you. It makes me happy, like I own something that nobody else can. That evening was one such. I have had many wonderful days, so many wonderful conversations, and many more. But I revisit this memory over and over again and I feel like I should treasure this lest it escapes through the pores of my brain.
What is it about that perfectly ordinary day? I would love to go back and try to recreate the memory, only that it won't be the same. It will never be the same. Its like holding water on my palm, I can see the memory fading. I want to scream, ask myself to hold on. I see us at a distance. Walking, heads touching each other, fingers touching one another, our cells celebrating togetherness through a gazillion mini high-fives, just being happy to be around each other.
What is it about that perfectly ordinary day? I see a lot of light. Some colors. It wasn't a particularly beautiful evening, but everything seems so perfect about the evening. I remember the place. I remember feeling complete, like a wonderful feast after starving all day. I like this memory. It could very well be my favorite memory.
What is it about that perfectly ordinary day? It is just that. It was perfect and ordinary. It was just one of those days.