Perhaps Nandika has never waited so eagerly for anything in her life. Generally, she keeps this midnight solitude for her writing. Everybody in her family knows that after 12 am it is a sin to disturb her as she simply locks her bedroom door and gets engrossed in her studies. Ohhhh….sorry for not clarifying that Nandika’s family also doesn’t know about her Nutty M avatar. She is a scholar and so, for them, it is obvious that she is a late-night reader. Who cares about her imaginative mind? Family often typecasts their members. The laptop has been open in front of Nandika for the last 45 minutes and for the last 40 minutes she has been trying to draft the first chapter of her new story plot, however, she has never felt it so hard to concentrate on her thoughts. Well, being an author, she sometimes suffers from writer’s block but unfortunately, it is not exactly that problem. Her frequent glances at her mobile are breaking the train of her thoughts and being a writer, I can feel her restlessness. We writers need complete peace and centralization towards our creation. A restless mind is an enemy of our imaginations and artistry. Nandika’s forehead forms a ‘V’ in agitation. For the fifth time, she deletes the entire para that she wrote.

“Shit….all are crap. Nandika, forget that you are a best-seller writer. Even B-grade movie directors won’t read this nagging melodramatic crap.”

Nandika curses herself. Unmindfully her eyes again fall on the laptop’s digital clock. It’s 12:55 a.m. Only 5 minutes are left. Nandika zigzags on her mobile screen to open it. For a moment, her heart sinks. Is she nervous? Why? It is he who is supposed to be nervous. A counsellor never gets nervous while he or she talks to a person. Then why is her heart thumping like a hydraulic press? Nandika distorts her face to the comparison.

“Hmmmm….Navya was right. This lost boy has the calibre to give me a tough time. What a punctuality!”

Nandika murmurs in exasperation. Just then her Instagram notification pings.

“Hi….here I am. Are you there?”

Unknowingly Nandika’s fingers run on the keyboard.

“Yes! I think I made a promise to listen to you. I couldn’t be a promise-breaker.”

Nandika couldn’t control her to be slightly sarcastic. In reply, her chat partner retorts with some laughing emojis,

“Yes! I must say you are not a promise-breaker instead, I can say that you are an impatient counsellor….ha…ha…ha…”

Nandika’s forehead furrows. She immediately types,

“Impatient counsellor! And how have you come to this conclusion so soon? I haven’t listened to or counselled you yet.”

Lost boy’s reply comes fast
,
“But you were waiting for my message impatiently. Doesn’t it show your patience level?”

“What the hell! Is he a mind reader or playing some game with me?”

Nandika utters in mind. She bites her lower lip in unease.

“Yes, I was waiting because I am a writer. A writer always seeks for interesting or mysterious characters.”

She writes but before she further explains, the mysterious boy replies,

“So, what did you consider me as? An interesting or a mysterious character?.....Well, before you answer, let me thank you first. Thank you Ms author. You considered me as worth seeking. I am honoured. Okay, I think we have wasted enough time in the introductory talk. Now, I want to come to the point. You want to know me…right? Otherwise, how can you be my agony aunt? So, ask me. I promise. I will be as honest as a mirror.”

A sheepish smile creeps on Nandika’s lips. She runs her thumb on the keyboard.

“Why have you described yourself as ‘Lost Boy’? Are you not sure about your thoughts?”

A moment of gap stays. Then the ‘Typing’ notification shows.

“Not exactly. I am very much sure about my thoughts but I am scared to show them to this world. You can say, my true self is lost in this world and I am dying to embrace it.”

“And what is your true self and how does it contradict your facade?”

Nandika askes.

“Facade! Well, you can say that. In fact, we all somewhen, somewhere hide behind a mask….anyway, as I have written in my Bio that don’t be so quick to judge me, I want you to listen to me first before coming to any conclusion.”

He types. Nandika takes a deep breath and writes,

“I am all ears. I want to listen to you too.”

Again, a small break...

“You know, since my childhood, I have been brought up with this information that I am a handsome, charming and vibrant person. Well, my mirror says the same thing as well and here is the problem. My attractive look never allows other people to look beyond my appearance. For example, people think that I am a very happy-go-lucky, flamboyant and easy-going person. But in reality, I am much more than that. I love poetry more than fashion journals…I love long walks amidst the jungle rather than being crowded by my fans in my music shows and I love to be called a nice person than a handsome boy. I think I am not being able to make you understand totally…I am…I am fed up with this limelight. I don’t want to be lost in this monotonous attention.”

The last two lines emit his frustration.

“God!…what a coincidence !…someone is suffering from the same identity crisis. His mind and his image are not supporting each other. Just like her. The only difference is, here someone is fed up with his happening life and image and seeking for his simple characteristic and Nandika Murthy is dying to show her bohemian mind. But….what about the image? A simple girl shouldn’t have a wild mind and a famous boy shouldn’t have uncomplicated thoughts. What an irony!”

Nandika quickly arranges her thoughts about this interesting boy in her mind. She types,

“It means, your agony is your mask or your image and you want to take it off. Well, before I suggest something, I want to know something more about you. Can I ask?”

“Sure, why not?”

The reply comes instantly.

“What is love for you?”