The PCMB of a Love Story

I first saw her when I entered college to earn an engineering degree. She, being my biological senior, was slightly older than me. The difference between our ages was half the numeric value of the square root of the circumference of a cricket ball in inches. But incidentally, pheromones in my body did not mind it. My vomeronasal organ easily recognized her, with ninety percent probability, as the one who will do additions and multiplications in my family tree. 

Her face was smooth, every five dozen square inches of it, with elliptical eyes and a thirty five degrees tapered nose soldered perfectly on it. Her smile would stretch her lips by an extra inch and mine by another half an inch every time I saw her. That face had the luminous intensity of a hundred watt halogen lamp, enough to power my laptop for three hours. She had long straight line like hairs, averaging two feet in length with four inches of standard deviation. Her holy curves were destined to bring the conic sections to my edgy life. She had a sonorous voice and I knew that once it starts resonating with mine, the amplitude of resulting sine waves could shatter any crystalline substance on earth.  Her body would smell of geraniol and citronellol, rarely found in homo-sapiens.

I communicated my love to her through a girl who sat diagonally behind her in the class and lived four rooms away from her in the hostel number seven. But I don’t know if the transmission signals met an electromagnetic interruption or the viscosity of my message was too less that it went right across her ears without leaving any deposits in her cardiac muscles or nervous system. While I always admired her to be of magnoliacae origin, she took me to be a cactaceae and started maintaining minimum eleven feet distance from me.

Though my love bike took three months to reach her, the news of its engine failure got broadcasted in the college at the speed of light. Suddenly my vibgyor dreams turned into monochrome with extra ten kilogram of embarrassment loaded on them having its centre of gravity right inside my heart. My love life which I expected to take an exponential curve suddenly turned into a null vector. The projectile thrown at a perfect forty five degrees inclination angle suddenly hit the wall and dropped dead with the force of gravity.

But as the learned men say, after every trough in a simple harmonic motion comes an upward wave. This new wave came to me with much higher amplitude and my heart started pounding again like an undamped spring mass system, this time for a biological junior. And as you might have already guessed, the polymer of my love life went on breaking and adding new aromatic bonds.