What if?

What if?

The first thing I want to ask tomorrow is could you sleep yesterday night? But of course you did. 

You are not meeting someone for the first time. Aren’t you?

I have no pressure. Not even an ounce of it. Yet I am nervous. Why? I ask myself. 

The answer I got has quickly sent a shiver down my spine. My quilt which was warm until now is suddenly colder than ever before. The music downstairs is suddenly louder than it was. My feet are cold. Somebody shouted downstairs. No really someone did and I am now trying harder to focus on the answer I got from self.  “What if he is actually nice?” 

If he’s just another guy, it’s no problem. I will walk back happy. Glad! Satisfied. I will back to my own life. To my job, that I am about to resign. To my flat, that I share with two friends, both of whom are insanely busy in their own lives. I will walk back to my guitar that I am trying so hard to learn. To my Urdu class, that I am planning to return. To my paint box, my colours, my brushes. I love them because they don’t lie like others. They don’t lie about the fact that my paintings are so average. I will walk back to being the average girl I am. To my friends. To my family. To the blue cup of coffee I own. To the plant that I had grown. Ahh They are singing ‘tujhe dekha to ye Jana sanam”. I will walk back to my music. My dance! My song, my chance! I will walk back just as I am. Just what I was. Just what I want to be! The ‘not-so-sure about tomorrow’ girl whose only surety is her present.  Her today! Her now! 

But what if he’s nice? Because if he is, then I may not be walking back to all this. At least not with this being exactly me! 


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