On a sunny morning, Meera, Rithika and I sat in my lawn to have tea. Every weekend after we completed our walk, we would reach our homes to have tea.
This week, it was my place and the climate was pleasant and both the kids left to play along with him to the indoor stadium.
One of the perks of being married to a businessman is that we could own a villa by the time we were forty years without the bank slips chasing us in our dreams.
After we settled in the chairs placed in our garden after the maid placed biscuits, a kettle of tea and cups, I couldn’t help but notice that Meera has lost a lot of weight.
She is no longer chubby and I couldn’t help but suspect that it was out of pressure. After all, she was running a failing art house.
The loan gets bigger every passing month and she is losing her clients but I cannot help but blame her. It is due to her stubbornness that new clients are not signing up and her approved category of art isn’t acceptable to many.
Rithika on the other hand is now leading her own team and cannot be even reached during weekly days.
We have been lucky to patch up after our last fight because of me but instead of telling you why we fought, let me rather tell me the story. That would anyway explain the reason.
Picking up her tea cup from the white table after settling in a chair, Meera enquired, “So have you given any thought to our suggestion?”
It was her idea that I should write my story during my bachelors’ internship. Pouring myself some tea, I replied, “Yes. I have decided not to write it.”
I could see Rithika sliding her feet on the trimmed grass as she questioned, “Can we assume you don’t want to relive your foolishness?”
She did have a point however, I couldn’t accept her statement. However, before I spoke, Meera mentioned, “Imagine her children skimming through her love story. That would be a wonderful sight.”
All of us laughed before I turned to the Meera to mention, “It isn’t a love story. You all should know that.”
Honestly, it wasn’t. It wasn’t even a concrete story but I cannot deny that I had feelings for him and even hoped to lead to a life with him before even trying to know what that meant.
Like many stories, he was my super senior and by the time I signed up for college, he signed out. However, I got to meet him due to his internship interviews.
Ratan Industries in which I currently work, usually hired interns from colleges and interviews were conducted for eligible students.
The first time I saw him was when he was speaking to us about the company before the interview started. He was tall, muscular, brown in skin tone and had curly hair bouncing every time he moved.
I had no idea he was our super senior until he confessed he was on the other side of the table a few years ago. He spoke confidently and his introduction about students getting to know how the industry functioned got me interested to know how he became so confident with a degree from our college.
So coming back, following my statement, Meera teased, “So says the girl who fought to earn a job in the same company just to meet him and express her feelings.”
Picking up a chocolate cookie, I confessed, “I thought he was the one... I was wrong... So what do you want me to do now? Write about it?”
Nodding indicating yes, Rithika replied, “I think many girls out there have chosen their life partners without having a clue as to what it means. Your story might help them or it might not. Let them judge it. All we are asking is to just write it.”
I honestly accept the idea but writing all of it would be so much and too little could be told if I start filtering the content. So I mentioned, “It’s so much to write. I cannot do this.”
While enjoying the early morning sun’s rays touching her white oval face, Rithika replied, “It’s simple then. Pick up a few incidents which you deem worthy and write them.”
Following her suggestion, Meera nodded in agreement too. I seriously didn’t understand why they were forcing me so much but if I did write, it could be the only way.
However, my curiosity made me ask, “Why don’t you guys write your story? I’m sure there is a good story there too.”
Before Meera even could respond, Rithika started laughing. Observing me, Rithika a moment later answered, “Write about my jealousy and her absolutely well-worked story? What’s in them to write about?”
With a smile, Meera continued, “Even your story becomes stale the moment my brother pops into the equation. Pretty much another love story.”
Pouring herself some more tea, Rithika suggested, “Apart from your love life Meera, what else can you write about?”
Her suggestion immediately made me point out, “That is exactly what I would love to write about too.”
I honestly don’t want to relive what happened and yes they have a fair point but this isn’t something that would change a person from her core. It would at best be a wake-up call.
A teenager who has everything but still believes that she has too little and took a lot of irrational decisions isn’t a story I wish to tell to my readers but that’s who I was and this is exactly that story I’m going to tell you.
You have been warned, ladies and gentlemen.
Staring at me, Meera mentioned, “You have more to offer Naina. Compared to me, a lot more to offer.”
Thinking about it for a few moments, I replied, “I agree. I might have been through a few interesting incidents but why should my story be told?”
Finishing her second round of tea, Rithika replied, “Reality Naina. Bittersweet reality. That’s why we have been insisting you write your story.”
Continuing Rithika’s explanation, Meera added, “Imagine how many of them could learn from your experiences.”
I could understand their intention but I want to offer something different. So let’s get started, my friend.
Now that I have told you why I wrote this book, let me also tell you that every chapter in this book is an incident from my life and with a few incidents, I would like to tell you what you could learn from me.
My name is Naina and you are about to read my story which I’d like to call ‘Your Loving Intern.’
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