The College Stalker

‘You don’t have to be cool
don’t have to be smart
don’t need to know anything all the time
it’s alright if your a little bit out of it
I don’t care I just wanna be your friend’

That accidental confidence actually led to a pretty strong bond of friendship. Sometimes I would sit and wonder, what would have happened if I hadn’t befriended my stalker when I did. Would bruising and cutting me become the only meaningful things in my life then?
“What are you so busy thinking, Aria?” someone laughed nearby.
“Nothing,” I murmured “Just staring with wonder, at life…”
“Philosophical much?” Roshni’s voice interrupted my thought flow.
I looked up at her from the book I was supposedly interested in.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“I’m friends with my stalker.”
Silence greeted my news. My three buddies from college were just too startled to react or reply to my statement.
“Please, why?”
Roshni was the first to find her voice. I looked straight into her eyes.
“He is a good human being,” I said in an even voice “And he works part time as a counselor.”
My three friends looked at me as though I was some kind of a freak. What had possessed me to become friends with my stalker was something beyond their comprehension. I couldn’t be bothered to explain either.

‘I like to hang with you
Talk about
Whatever we talk about
Don’t care where we go,
What we do, who you know
What you wear or if your hair is blue or purple or pink’

“What’s bothering you?”
I ran into my stalker on my way to the Central Library. It was quite a long walk from our department to the Central Library. He had been tailing me for quite sometime, I could gather.
“Nothing much.” I sighed, “Just going to the library. Need to get some books.”
He nodded.
“Did he call back again?”
I laughed in a hollow sort of way.
“I wish.”
Some amount of bitterness must have escaped me, for clucking sympathetically, he said, “Keep faith…you never know what God has in store for you.”
“I don’t believe in God.”
Oh great! I was reeking with bitterness and disappointment. Some friend I was to him.
The only thing I could focus on was me. Here was a boy, in his third year…probably more messed up than I am, and he was actually listening to what I had to say.
“Why don’t you ever speak about yourself?”
The question escaped me before I could check my tongue.
“’Cause I love hearing you talk.”
With that, he walked off leaving me with a hoard of fresh confusing questions swimming in my mind.