Shri Jagat Singh Bisht
(Master Teacher: Happiness & Well-Being, Laughter Yoga Master Trainer, Author, Blogger, Educator, and Speaker.)
☆ Short Stories ☆ Childhood crush 🌷☆ Shri Jagat Singh Bisht ☆
In the modest corridors of their school, where chalk dust floated like philosophical ideas and love notes travelled faster than homework, four lives quietly began their entanglement—Kavita, Raveena, Amit, and Rajan.
Amit and Kavita had that gentle, unspoken fondness—the kind that survives on shared tiffins and exchanged glances during mathematics period. Rajan, meanwhile, nursed a rather dramatic crush on Raveena, who remained blissfully unaware, being far more interested in her handwriting than in human hearts.
Their school years were a festival of fleeting romances—half-glances, accidental hand touches, and heroic acts like lending a pen.
Everything felt eternal then, as things often do when one has no electricity bills to pay.
But life, as it delights in doing, rearranged the script.
Years later, under the solemn gaze of family expectations and matrimonial negotiations, Amit found himself married to Raveena, while Rajan tied the knot with Kavita. Love, it appeared, had been outsourced to practicality.
Marriage began not with violins, but with comparisons.
Amit, in moments of dangerous nostalgia, would sigh, “Kavita had such a sharp sense of humour…”—which, translated into marital language, meant trouble.
Raveena would retaliate with Olympic precision: “At least Rajan was good at sports. You couldn’t even run for the bus.”
Rajan, poor man, occasionally slipped and revealed his long-preserved admiration for Raveena, usually during arguments—thus ensuring that his nights were colder than necessary.
Kavita, not to be left behind, would remark wistfully, “Amit was so kind… and quite handsome too.”
Their homes became arenas where the past was not just remembered—it was weaponised.
Years rolled on. The fire of youth settled into the slow-burning stove of routine. Children grew, migrated, and left behind echoing homes filled with old furniture and older memories. Life became quieter, but not necessarily wiser.
Then came social media—the great archaeologist of forgotten connections.
One fine day, through friend requests and profile pictures that were at least a decade optimistic, they rediscovered one another. Messages turned into calls, calls into nostalgia, and nostalgia into a grand plan: a reunion at an exotic destination.
Ah, the fantasies they spun!
Amit imagined Kavita as she was—graceful, witty, perhaps a little older, but essentially unchanged. Kavita pictured Amit with the same charm, maybe a touch of silver at the temples. Rajan rehearsed conversations with Raveena in his mind, full of delayed poetry. Raveena, though practical, allowed herself a brief indulgence in “what ifs”.
Reality, however, arrived without warning and without mercy.
Amit was now gloriously bald, with a stomach that had clearly enjoyed life more than necessary. Kavita had acquired both weight and a reluctant gait. Rajan looked as though time had personally taken offence at him—pale and worn. And Raveena, armed with thick spectacles and a catalogue of ailments, seemed permanently at war with her own health.
They looked at each other.
And then, very carefully, they looked away.
The air, once thick with imagined romance, now felt like a waiting room in a hospital.
Conversations stumbled. Compliments sounded like condolences. Laughter came out cautiously, like a guest unsure of its welcome.
Within hours, urgent “family matters” began to emerge—ailing relatives, forgotten commitments, mysterious obligations. The grand reunion quietly dissolved, each one retreating with polite smiles and immense relief.
Back in their respective homes, something unexpected happened.
The quibbling returned—but this time, it had softened.
Amit chuckled, “I used to think Kavita was the most graceful girl in school!”
Raveena burst into laughter, “And you thought you were handsome!”
Rajan joked about his “epic crush”, and Kavita teased him mercilessly. They laughed—not with bitterness, but with a strange, liberating honesty.
The past, once a source of comparison, had now become comedy.
And somewhere in that laughter lay a quiet wisdom:
Childhood crushes are like old report cards—precious to keep, amusing to revisit, but utterly unnecessary to live by.
Life, after all, is less about what might have been—and far more about learning to smile at what is.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
© Jagat Singh Bisht
Master Teacher: Happiness & Well-Being, Laughter Yoga Master Trainer, Author, Blogger, Educator, and Speaker
Founder
A Pathway to Authentic Happiness, Well-Being & A Fulfilling Life! We teach skills to lead a healthy, happy and meaningful life.
The Science of Happiness (Positive Psychology), Meditation, Yoga, Spirituality and Laughter Yoga. We conduct talks, seminars, workshops, retreats and training.
≈ Editor – Shri Hemant Bawankar/Editor (English) – Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi, NM
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