Second year of law school. You broke up with your girlfriend just before the second semester ended. You were going strong since 10 months and your life was shattered into pieces. These were difficult times indeed.

Your ambitions for that publication had gone for a toss, your moot teammates seeing your instability have given you the ditch and now you shared awkward glances with them in the library. You’re away from the comfort of home, parents and your Labrador.

All of a sudden you realise you actually don’t have any friends left who can at least cheer you up. You start mingling with the ‘boy’s group’ of the class, who you hardly spoke to in your first year because of your elitist ideologies and you still don’t blame yourself; (here’s why- now to help you get over the whole thing, they either come up to you with a cheeky grin and ask for her number or give you an invitation to their dorm room party where they intend to drink and joke about her promiscuity. The worst part is that you get puzzled if they’re pulling your leg or actually serious, and amidst all the confusion you show willingness to these shenanigans).

But what actually goes on in your head is what only you’ll know and can understand, not even those seniors who’ve given you a hundred lectures and shared their own ditto same experiences. You ramble your time away reminiscing everything.

You guys started off as being two good friends who would help each other out with classwork and notes and going together with a small group of friends to the movies or hanging out at the proximate food joint. You used to call her ‘kiddo’ because somehow she was a year younger to you. And then you guys went to being really good friends who would be talking to each other post-midnight, go to movie all by yourselves and deliberately check out and then talk about people from the opposite gender to see if the other one feels jealous. And then when you guys were actually dating, aah! Those were the golden times.

You evoke the sweet memory of how you had jumped across the girls hostel one night only to be with her; you remembered how she used to send a message to you every morning with some beautiful quote about love; you recollected the thought of how she had baked a cake for you on your 6 months; and then there was a party where you both were drunk and making out in the next room while you knew that everyone else was secretly listening from the door.

After four weeks and one thousand repeats of Storm by Lifehouse you start showing signs of sanity. And this is where you start looking at things from the other perspective.

All of a sudden you had a different outlook on her. You felt disgusted at the memory of that party. Her saliva in your mouth-ew! Whereas you never realised how many jokes people cracked behind your back, judging you as a nymphomaniac; And you got sickened by those morning messages cos ‘she toked lyk dis wen watsapng u……’; And let’s not even get to the memory of jumping across the wall into the girls’ hostel. You juxtaposed yourself to a 80s movie, where only such stupidity would happen and you cursed yourself of doing it ’cause hell, you’re a law student.  And something you could never really tell her, how she wasn’t fit to be a cook and not even your Labrador at home could eat the thing she called ‘cake’.

And now you see her holding hands with a guy who’s wearing a paisley printed shirt, trousers which are sticking to his legs and those really fancy pointed shoes. Must be a BBA student. Maybe those boys actually knew her better than you did. Maybe you should stop acting like one from the bourgeois class after all.