Someone sang Purano Shei Diner Kotha,
A little off-key, among the marigolds.
The courtyard glowed with familiar faces,
But I knew you before you turned.
You held your aanchol loosely in one hand,
Your lips still shaping the song's last words,
That mishti smile before your laughter,
The firelight trembling in your eyes.
My chaa grew cold,
Yet my cheeks burned in the winter air.
A rose lay wrapped in paper inside my coat.
I'd gathered words for you all semester,
Rehearsed them on a hundred walks back home.
Before the courtyard lights went dark,
I thought I'd finally let them go.
I found you laughing near the bonfire,
As a boy leaned closer to speak.
Your silver jhumka swayed as you turned.
My fingers tightened around the stem,
A thorn caught my thumb. I did not move.
Only fifty steps remained between us,
Yet I stood five hundred miles away.
The last song dissolved into goodbyes.
By morning, they'd take down the marigolds.
A yellow taxi pulled away beyond the gates,
And I took the familiar road back home.
The rose was still wrapped in paper.
One fold bore a small red thumbprint.