concept: you and i steal a book on indian history from the library. we giggle, flip through the musty, pale yellow pages, run our fingers down the lines, the texture makes it seem as though the book got soaked in the rain and later was hung out on a line to dry, the cold breeze making the cover dance a little...i hear the sound of you clicking your fingers and i snap out of it, return to reality and this dimly lit section of the library. we both smile with our lips shut tight. a knowing look. your shoelaces come undone as we run, almost-jump down the stairs. you kneel down to tie them, and i wait for you. the coach barely believes my "i have period cramps" excuse to get out of playing kho-kho with the rest of the class, nods and tells me to go find a corner to rest in. rest. oh, that i will. i smile. we're sitting with our legs crossed, under the scorching heat, calves burning against the tarmac basketball court. your left hand is raised to protect us from the sun, and your right hand brushes against mine as i try to keep my eyes glued to the pale yellow pages. i can't help but think if this is it. if god wills to take me away now, i would go away with the brightest smile on my face - for i have now, in this tiny, unforgiving world, witnessed and experienced the textbook definition of a perfect moment. the bell rings, signalling the end of the last lesson for today. i wipe the drool off my lips and yawn, eyelids refusing to part with their lovers. the sound of you clicking your fingers. i snap out of it. return to reality and this annoyingly well lit section of the classroom.