Heart to Heart
Mission not so impossible…

By Hamza Asad

When we lived in Rahim Yar Khan, I used to frequently curse my long lost line of ancestry for choosing such a land to settle in. "Exotic" was the word used by my grandfather when he used to try to counter my remarks and convince me that Rahim Yar Khan was heaven on earth. These series of discussions continued for a good nine years till fate intervened and decided to take me on a roller coaster ride, and, mind you, not the fun type.

My dad got a job in Lahore. From a new house to new wheels to a new life, it all changed overnight. This law of change naturally applied to my school as well. Simple as that sounds, it was not. I was an above average student, not much of a problem in school. More of a gem I would say.

You know when life gets too good; things are in for a major bump.

My first day at school was something I was ready to tackle. I could handle the outsider label and stares without having to be Tom Cruise. As soon as I was introduced to the class I was greeted by thirty children laughing at me and pointing fingers from my head to my feet. Wearing your school pants up to the waist, oiling your hair and wearing round spectacles were what I thought would be the killer fashion statement for anyone but the killer fashion got me killed and served for appetiser at the school chit chat menu.

The days passed and my school miseries came to a halt, but a newly formed nightmare attacked me as soon as I slept at night. Back in the old days I used to study in a segregated school, but this was co-education, my friends, and that makes as much difference as oxygen in this world. To put it in simple words this newly formed issue was an angel named Nadia. I never was a ladies' man. In fact, when it came to girls, I never was a man. I had never managed a conversation with a girl for more than a minute, thanks to my confidence, which lasted as long as an ant would under a four tonne elephant. 

This was my first crush. I would half heartedly convince myself that talking to her was impossible, but my heart would start taking gigantic leaps and screaming that I had to generate some means to talk to her.

After some time I came to a do or die situation. It was time for war. I was accompanied by my escort of loyal companions to the school canteen where we had developed a master plan which took a week to complete. They were assigned the task of distracting any living being near her by any means necessary. We were within a ten feet radius of the target. I had learnt all my lines the day before. What she would most probably say and replies to those answers and then the branch of expected questions and answers had all been prepared.

I approached her, hanging on to dear life. I kept telling myself that I should just act normal and that it was just a girl, not the President of the United States of America! Finally, I summed up all my energy as I was about to talk to HER, which seemed more difficult than conquering K2 at that moment. I started talking. It was normal. All that while, I was thinking: run Humza run, run for your dear life! A minute had passed. A new record had been set. I had lasted more than a minute in a conversation with a girl.

Then it all changed within a second. She asked me my favourite sport. I had not prepared the answer to this question. I felt like someone had pulled the ground away from beneath my feet. As she looked at me, waiting for me to answer, I was considering what direction to run off in, but was saved by common sense swooping in to make me realise that I did know what my favourite sport was. I gave the answer and the conversation continued. 

After some time she slapped me and ran away.

Not really. Just joking. It all went normal. As normal as it can be between an angel and a guy who is not Tom Cruise.

Humza's first (and only) law of talking to a girl in your class: "Just talk to her, she ain't gonna eat you."