कॉलेज इश्क़

College ka annual fest — "Utsav।" तीन दिन। Cultural events, competitions, stalls, और — couple dance competition। Rohan — introvert, coder, socially awkward। कभी dance floor पर गया नहीं। Neha — dance society president। हर event में perform करती। Graceful, confident, और itni talented कि लोग सिर्फ़ उसे देखने आते। कैसे मिले? Organizing committee। "Tumhe lighting ka kaam diya hai," Neha ne kaha. "Stage ke lights program karne hain." "Main coder hoon, electrician nahi." "Arduino se hoga. Coding hi hai. Chalo, rehearsal room mein set up karo." Rehearsal room mein — Neha dance practice कर रही थी। Classical. Kathak। मैं lights code कर रहा था, पर आँखें — screen pe कम, उस पर ज़्यादा। "Dekh kya rahe ho? Lights synchronize karo music ke saath," उसने बिना मुड़े कहा। Caught. तीन दिन — rehearsals। Lights perfect हुईं। पर हर rehearsal में बातें भी बढ़ीं। "Tumhe dance kyun pasand hai?" मैंने एक दिन पूछा। "Kyunki dance mein jhooth nahi bol sakte. Body language — sabse honest language hai." "Toh meri body language kya keh rahi hai?" उसने मुड़कर देखा। मुस्कुराई। "Keh rahi hai ki tum abhi nervous ho. Aur... kuch kehna chahte ho par him mat nahi hai." Sach tha. Fest ka last day — couple dance competition announce hua. "Koi partner hai?" Neha ne pucha — casually। "Nahi." "Toh mere saath?" "Main dance nahi jaanta." "Tum lights jaante ho. Main dance jaanti hoon. Saath mein kuch naya banega." Stage par gaye. Lights — meri coding. Dance — uski choreography। Jab spot light mujh par pada — main freeze ho gaya. Neha ne haath pakda. Fuskusaayi — "Mujhe dekho. Bas mujhe. Baaki sab blur kar do." Aur maine kiya. Sach mein kiya. Duniya blur ho gayi — bus woh thi, main tha, aur music. Competition jeete? Nahi. Third place. Par us raat — fest ke baad — empty auditorium mein — Neha ne kaha: "Tumhe pata hai third place kyun aaya?" "Kyunki mera dance bekar tha?" "Nahi — kyunki judges bhi dekh rahe the ki tum dance nahi, mujhe dekh rahe the. Too obvious tha." "Sorry." "Sorry mat bolo. Wahi toh sabse achha part tha." Aur empty auditorium mein — bina music ke — ek aur dance hua. Sirf do logon ka. Slow. Awkward. Perfect.

Exam ke ek din pehle — hostel room mein — teen baj rahe hain raat ke. Neend aa rahi hai, samajh nahi aa raha, aur kal subah 9 baje paper hai — Thermodynamics. Phone ring hua. Kavya. "So gayi?" maine pucha. "Agar so gayi hoti toh phone kaise uthati? Entropy samajh aa raha hai?" "Entropy — yeh woh hai na jismein sab kuch bikhar jaata hai? Jaise meri life?" "Funny. Ab sun — entropy is the measure of disorder in a system. Jaise tera room." Maine room dekha — kapde zameen par, Maggi ke packets, books ulti-seedhi. "Fair point." Hum phone par padhe — teen ghante. Woh samjhaati, main samajhta. Kabhi-kabhi woh samjhaate-samjhaate Hindi mein aa jaati — "Abe yeh simple hai, dhyan se sun" — aur mujhe samajh aa jaata. Subah 6 baje — dono ke notes complete. Par neend? Zero. "Main ek kaam karti hoon," Kavya ne kaha. "Noodles bana rahi hoon. Hostel ke gate pe milte hain." Gate par mili — haathon mein do bowls. Maggi — extra masala. "Yeh Thermodynamics nahi fix karega," maine kaha. "Par tera mood fix karega. Aur mood fix toh padhai fix." Humne gate ke bahar baith kar Maggi khayi. Subah ki thandi hawa. Birds chirping. Aur woh — messy bun, specs, aur slippers mein — duniya ki sabse sundar insaan. Paper hua. Theek-thaak gaya. Dopahar ko result nahi aaya par relief aayi. Shaam ko message — Kavya se: "Next exam kab hai?" "Parson. Fluid Mechanics." "Toh kal raat phir same time? Main noodles banake rakhti hoon." Aur yahi tha — hamara love language. Notes, noodles, aur 3 AM phone calls. Koi fancy date nahi, koi expensive gift nahi. Bas — "samajh aa raha hai?" aur "neend aa rahi hai toh so ja, main padh ke notes bhej dungi." Chaar saal — 8 semesters — 48 exams. Har exam ke pehle, wahi routine. Degree mili. Dono ko. Saath saath stage par gaye. Aur convocation ke baad — hostel gate pe — ek aakhiri bowl Maggi. "Ab kaun banayega 3 baje Maggi?" maine pucha. "Main hi. Bas ab kitchen mein, hostel gate pe nahi." "Matlab?" "Matlab — Bangalore mein dono ka office 3 km door hai. Flat share karein?" "As roommates?" "As... whatever you want to call it. Par Maggi main hi banaungi." Deal.

Engineering college। Third year। Canteen — Table number 7। Left corner, window के पास। यह table हमारी थी — officially नहीं, पर हर कोई जानता था। "Aman-Priya ki table" — कोई नहीं बैठता था। शुरुआत कैसे हुई? DSA class में। Professor ने pair programming assignment दी। Random pairing — और मेरे नसीब में प्रिया आ गई। "Tujhe coding aati hai?" उसने पहले दिन पूछा। "Aati hai. Tujhe?" "Mujhe zyada aati hai. Toh sun — main code karungi, tu documentation likh." Attitude — first impression। मुझे बुरा लगा। पर code देखा — solid। Clean। Comments तक likhe hue। मेरा ego hurt hua, pар respect बढ़ गई। Assignment submit hua। A+ grade। Professor ne kaha — "Best pair." "Agli assignment bhi saath?" usne pucha. "Kya choice hai," maine kaha — lekin mann mein khush tha. Phir canteen. Table 7. Chai aur samosa. Code review aur life review — saath saath. "Tu engineering kyun kar raha hai?" usne ek din pucha. "Papa chahte the." "Aur tu?" "Main... writer banna chahta tha." Usne samosa neeche rakha. "Toh likh. Code bhi likh, stories bhi likh. Dono programming hai — bas language alag hai." Us din se — table 7 par do cheezein hoti thi — laptop aur ek diary. Code bhi likha, feelings bhi likhin. Fourth year — placement season. Priya ko Google mila, mujhe ek Bangalore startup. Dono khush. Dono sad. Last day of college — table 7. Do cup chai. Silence. "Yeh table kisi aur ko mil jayegi," maine kaha. "Table kisi ki nahi hoti. Yaadein hoti hain. Aur yaadein —" usne meri diary ki taraf point kiya — "un mein hain." Airport par — last hug. Tight. Lamba. Woh jo cheezein kabhi nahi boli — sab us hug mein thi. Aaj — Bangalore mein baitha hoon. Startup chal raha hai. Diary bhi chal rahi hai. Aur Google Bangalore office ke canteen mein — table 7 hai. Priya ne photo bheja — "Dekh, yahan bhi table 7 hai. Reserved hai — permanently." Maine reply kiya — "Kiske liye?" "Aman-Priya ke liye. Obviously." Obviously.

Central Library। हर शाम 5 बजे। Reference section। Table 3 — left side। मैं आती थी UPSC की preparation के लिए। वो आता था — GATE ke लिए। Same table। Opposite sides। रोज़। तीन महीने — कोई बात नहीं। बस mutual acknowledgment — एक छोटा सा nod। "तुम आ गई?" "तुम भी?" चौथे महीने — उसने पहली बात कही: "Yeh pen tumhari hai? Zameen par gira tha।" "Thanks." Itni si baat। पर us din se — ice break हुई। "UPSC?" उसने अगले दिन पूछा — मेरी books देखकर। "Haan। तुम?" "GATE। Computer Science।" "All the best।" "Tumhe bhi।" फिर — silence। पर अब comfortable silence। दोनों को पता था कि सामने वाला serious student है, bakwas nahi karega। Mutual respect — library wali। छह महीने — minor interactions बढ़ीं। कभी वो अपनी water bottle share करता — "Cooler bahut door hai, yeh lo।" कभी मैं extra pen deti — "Yeh rakh lo, teri ink khatam ho rahi hai।" "Naam kya hai?" — यह सवाल finally आठवें महीने में आया। "Ananya।" "Vikas।" "Nice meeting you, Vikas। Aath mahine baad।" दोनों हँसे — library mein। Librarian ne "Sshhh!" kiya। दसवें महीने — closing time। 9 PM। Library band ho rahi thi। Hum dono bahar nikle — saath। "Chai?" usne pucha। "Library ke baad chai? Yeh toh date hai," maine chhedha। "Date nahi — reward। 5 ghante padhai ki chai।" Gate ke bahar ki tapri। दो cup chai। Pehli baar library ke bahar baat hui — aur kitni baatein thi। Dreams, fears, family pressure, UPSC ka stress, GATE ka anxiety। "Tujhe lagta hai hoga?" maine pucha — genuinely। "Hoga। Dono ka hoga। Kyunki hum woh log hain jo roz 5 ghante library mein baith sakte hain — bina phone chhuye। Itna discipline hai toh result bhi aayega।" Us din se — chai bhi routine ban gayi। Library 5-9. Chai 9-10. Phir hostel। Result aaya — dono ka। Maine prelims clear kiya। Usne GATE mein AIR 340 laaya। Celebration — same tapri, same chai। "Ab?" usne pucha. "Ab Mains ki tayyari. Aur tu?" "IIT Bombay. M.Tech." "Bombay..." "Door hai. Par library ke table se tapri tak ka distance bhi door tha — aur woh bhi cover ho gaya. Yeh bhi ho jayega." Main muskurayi. "Library ki closing time se shuru hua — ab closing hone mat dena." "Kabhi nahi." Aur sach mein — kabhi nahi hua.

Boys hostel ki chhat — raat 11 baje. Rules ke hisaab se allowed nahi. Par rules aur college students — kabhi match nahi hote. Main upar jata tha — roz. Akela. Stars dekhne? Nahi — girls hostel ki chhat pe Dia ko dekhne. Woh bhi roz aati thi — apni chhat par. Guitar bajati thi. Doosri building. 100 meter ki duri. Awaz aati thi — hawa mein guitar ke notes. Kya bajati thi? "Tera Ban Jaunga." Roz. Same song. Roz thoda better. Maine ek raat torch se signal diya — on-off, on-off. Bachpan wala code. Uski guitar ruki. Phir — uski torch bhi on-off hui. Communication established. Agle din — Morse code seekha. Ek hafte mein fluent. Torch se baat karne lage — raat 11 baje, chhat par, 100 meter ki doori se. "HI" — pehla message. "HI. KAUN?" — jawab. "BOYS HOSTEL. GUITAR SUNKE AATA HOON." "ACHHA BAJATI HOON?" "NAHI. PAR RUKO MAT." Uski torch tezi se blink hui — morse mein hasi. Teen mahine — roz raat morse code. Baatein? Sab. Exams, dreams, complaints about hostel food, favourite movies. Ek baar — "TUJHE DEKHNA HAI PROPERLY." Usne reply kiya — "CANTEEN. KAL. 12 BAJE." Canteen — pehli baar saamne. Woh bilkul waisi thi jaisi maine 100 meter ki doori se imagine ki thi. Aur bilkul alag bhi. "Toh tu hai guitar wala boy," usne kaha. "Aur tu hai torch wali girl." Humne chai pi. Baatein ki. Morse code ki zarurat nahi thi — par woh zyada romantic tha. Raat ko — chhat par — phir morse code. "ACHA LAGA MILKE?" "BAHUT." "PHIR SE MILEIN?" "RAAT KO CHHAT PAR." "NAHI — DHOOP MEIN. CANTEEN MEIN. PROPERLY." "DONE." College ke baaki ke do saal — din mein canteen, raat mein chhat. Morse code kabhi band nahi hua — woh hamari secret language ban gayi. Aaj — shaadi ke baad — flat mein rehte hain. Kabhi-kabhi — raat ko — woh bedroom ki light on-off karti hai. Morse mein — "I LOVE YOU." Main kitchen ki light se reply karta hoon — "I KNOW." Kuch languages kabhi nahi marte.

Farewell party। Final year। Auditorium sajaa hua — balloons, streamers, "We'll Miss You" banner। Main stage par speech dene wala tha — as Student Council President। Speech likhi thi — formal, funny, nostalgic। Perfect farewell speech। Par jab mic haath mein aaya — aur samne Ishita baithi thi, saree mein, aankhon mein aansu — maine likhi hui speech pocket mein rakh di। Aur kuch aur bola: "Main yeh farewell speech Ishita ke liye de raha hoon. Woh nahi jaanti — toh ab jaanegi. First year — fresher's party. Main nervous tha. Stage par gaya quiz mein. Galat jawab diya — sab hanse. Main sharminda. Tab Ishita ne — jo mujhe jaanti bhi nahi thi — taali bajayi. Akeli. Pure auditorium mein ek taali. Mujhe laga — agar ek insaan ne taali bajayi, toh answer itna galat bhi nahi tha. Second year — college trip. Manali. Bus mein seat nahi mili Ishita ke paas — toh main puri trip apni seat se uski taraf dekhta raha. Pathetic? Haan. Par dil tha — dimag nahi. Third year — annual day. Ishita ka dance performance. Main front row mein baitha. Woh stage par. Jab lights bujheen — usne meri taraf dekha aur haath hilaya. Shayad mujhe nahi, peeche kisi ko. Par maine apne aap ko convince kar liya ki mujhe kiya. Fourth year — ab. Farewell. Last chance. Isliye yeh speech. Ishita — tu duniya ki sabse achhi insaan hai. Tere saath baat karne ki himmat kabhi nahi hui — aur aaj bhi nahi hai. Yeh speech teri taraf dekhne ki himmat hai — bus. College khatam ho raha hai. Tujhse kabhi kuch nahi kaha. Yeh regret rahega — zindagi bhar. Par kam se kam aaj — sab ke saamne — itna keh raha hoon: Thank you. Tere hone se college beautiful tha." Auditorium mein silence. Phir — taaliyan. Bohot saari. Main stage se utra. Ishita ke paas gaya — woh ro rahi thi. "Pagal hai tu," usne kaha. "Haan." "Puri speech mein naam le liya mera — poore college ke saamne?" "Haan." "Ab coffee peene chalega?" "...haan?" "Chaar saal late hai tu. Par chalo — better late than never." Us din ke baad — sab badal gaya. Farewell speech jo kabhi officially nahi di gayi — woh meri zindagi ki sabse important speech ban gayi.