It was my English exam. After finishing reading the whole question paper, I opened my costliest Parker pen and started writing. Omg! I forgot to fill ink in my pen.
With an idea of getting a pen without the knowledge of the invigilator, I looked on to the easy possible ways.
We realize how worse we were and the real side of us only during the times of our desperate needs. I shut my male ego inside a tight sack and I hissed towards that newly joined girl. I showed my pen and gestured her to give a pen to me.
“This is the pen I write for a long time, if I give it to you my hand-writing will change,” she whispered it to me.
I keenly saw in her pencil box, she had another fountain pen made of wood. I pointed it and asked, “What about that pen?”
“This is the first pen my daddy brought for me. I am having it for seven years and I don’t give this to anyone. I am sorry,” she whispered in a very low voice and gave me a helpless look.
“It’s fine. I will manage,” I told her and asked her to continue her writing. Some of my friends had told me that she was arrogant and cunning.
“They were right,” I thought so by cursing her in my mind.
Meanwhile, our invigilator saw everything happened and he gave me his pen with a last warning. I gave him a happy smile and started writing.
The question paper was a difficult one and I comprehended, many of my classmates were going to be flunked. So, I closed my lifeless-pen and started looking at the people and every other small and big thing of the hall curiously. Those moments were like the brakes of your car weren’t working, and you realize you couldn’t do anything. And so, you just close your eyes and relax, leaving things to happen the way as they wish. Fifteen minutes passed by, I was certainly cool and pretending as if I was thinking answers. A minute later, the newly joined girl dragged her wooden fountain pen towards me and gestured me to start writing.
After she went my friends mocked me. “Arey! What’s happening here? What is going on with you” one of my friends asked. “A fountain pen and a love story,” other replied. Many of my friends had told me earlier that she was much beautiful, I felt they were right.
After a month, our exam papers were corrected and given. In Physics, most got flunked, but I passed. Newly joined girl failed in the borders and so, she asked my papers. I gave it to her and told her thanks because had she not given her pen then the scenario would have been different. She smiled and said, “No sorry and no thanks and no mentioning of anything in between friends.”
On that day during the recess, I was walking near the cycle-stand. I saw a wooden pen in the ground. I took it. It was her pen. Cunningly, I thought whether I would keep it with myself.
Then I scolded myself for thinking like that and then I went to the class. She appeared so dull and her eyes too seemed to be watered by tears just some minutes before and I knew the reason.
I asked her fountain pen this time not because I loved that pen but because I wanted to know how much I meant to her.
Her face dulled, “Ask me anything other than it; you know I can’t give that to anyone, not even to my papa. Moreover, my friends used tell that when we give fountain pen to our friends, the friendship bond would be broken and they would separate or quarrel.”
She as usual started saying stories about it, and then she gave me her pencil box instead of her wooden fountain pen. I didn’t force her to give her pen because I too was a little afraid of the story that friendship may eventually break when one gifts a pen to his/her friend.
She replied, “I won’t miss you. I won't go anywhere away from you. I will study in this same school sitting next to you up to my twelfth standard provided the teachers here don’t flunk me very often.” I laughed and felt so relieved. And then we both were about to depart. Suddenly, she called my name and gave me her wooden fountain pen and asked me to keep it safely. I hugged her immediately and told how much happy I was.
She then told me, “I hope this pen never leaks ink but in case if it does then apply some coconut oil after filling the ink. Also the oil will keep this pen shining.”
After this, we, boys, kept a cycle race in between ourselves in the school road. We rushed our cycles as fast as we could. In home, I excitedly looked on my bag for her wooden fountain pen. I didn’t find it there. I last remembered of keeping her pen safely in my bag only but I didn't find it there. I went in the same road in my cycle and searched for the pen, I didn’t find it anywhere. It made me to cry. Earlier I had lost many of the costliest pens and many other costliest things but I have never cried. But losing this pen caused me a great sadness and regret that I couldn’t console.
That’s the end of the fountain pen and the love story.
The shop keeper filled ink and gave me to check them. I took the wooden pen and wrote the name, “Tamil Arashi”. The first name I write whenever I buy a pen, the name of the girl - who stayed in my life for a short time during my school days but took a permanent place in my heart. Her beautiful name it is.