My roomies were concerned about me that day. Not that I was in a state of depression or something, but they had this weird feeling something was up, I was smiling to myself. I wasn't chattering away, and I wasn't reading anything. More surprisingly,I even went out with them for a evening walk.
They knew there was this girl in class, but never knew I would actually try something to talk to her. Pretty Woman(PW henceforth) was popular by then and they had heard of her and knew I had a chance of maybe 1 in a million. But roomies as they were ,they humored me by giving me advice.
In those days "dating" was unheard of, and liking someone was limited to 5 min chats, and maybe a lunch at the end of a 3 year degree, all peppered with similar 5 min chats. There were no Coffee Days and Baristas; so lets go for coffee sounded more like "lets run away together". There were the more bolder type, who used to hang out and all but that wasn't in my end of the city. Anyway, my roomies decided that if I was ever to have talk to PW, I'd need to have an excuse. Obviously I couldn't just walk up and say hi, because it would make me look needy (as if I wasn't!) So they decided I need to ask her for something which she could give happily, apart from a whack on the face.
As we decided on the variables, it began getting late. Thought of asking for a pen, but asking a pen from someone on the other side of the class looked lame, apart from the fact that there were around 30 people in between from whom I could have got a pen and never have to return it. OR ask for directions to the library, but everyone knew that I was the most frequent visitor to the Library.
On the other hand she could have asked a hundred things from me, and I would have offered it with life long free service and 24*7 customer support. But then again she wasn't on the needy side, and at most might ask me If I was in her class or not. I did not know her friends so they couldn't help me. And my dear friends had got me into more than I could handle.
But I had already planned for this moment. I had my excuse, and I had been thinking of nothing else but that the whole evening. A notebook. All I had to do was muster the courage to ask for her notebook. I had see Mohan already do it, and she had given him the blessed book without much trouble, so why not me? So as I shared my idea with my roomies, they nodded in approval. And warned me against anything stupid, like putting a note, or doing some "Accidental" Graffiti on the back page.
Have you ever checked the last page of a girls notebook? If you have you will know what I mean when I say, that last page is the most vital "current class news " source there could ever be. Notes , names and phone numbers. That's the best page you could ever get your hands on. And there was a science in deciding which book would have that page. Observant that I was I had my theory. The more strict the professor, the more a girl would communicate through notes. Find the most stuckuppish prof and you've got your book!!! And in my case Mr. Naresh, the Burly Accounts prof was my man.
Next Day morning Dressed in my best I was in my place at 11, conveniently missing Prof Ramesh's class, the first in the hour. PW was in her seat as well, so things were so fa so good....
