And the time I learned that nothing goes as planned.
Part of “The Things I Never Planned.” Earlier chapter here: The First Time
“Hi. My… my name is Ajay.”
That’s what my friend kept repeating while practicing how to introduce himself confidently. Hand ahead, smile on point, tone rehearsed – at least that was the plan. But every now and then, his voice cracked. Sometimes his hand froze mid-air. It was like his brain had disconnected from his body. He’d been at it for so long that even the walls knew his name by now.
After the fifth round, I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed his hand mid-air, looked him dead in the eye, and said, “I know, bro.”
He froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “You’ve officially lost it,” he said.
Maybe I had. I had mocked his practice session. Somehow, this turned into a situation where I was about to need one too.
After his tenth “Hi, my name is Ajay” (each one shakier than the last), he finally dropped his hand. He sighed like a man carrying the weight of all rejected proposals in history.
“Bro, Valentine’s Day is coming,” he said, eyes dramatic enough to qualify for a soap opera. “I need to talk to her.”
I almost laughed. Of course. The annual festival of panic, chocolates, and last-minute bravery.
“Relax,” I said. “You’re just saying hi, not confessing to a crime. How hard can it be?”
Apparently, those four words were enough to summon karma itself.
He smirked. The smirk that says you just dug your own grave and I’m here to hand you the shovel.
Next thing I know, he’s pointing somewhere and saying, “Perfect. Give me a demo.”
“Demo of what?” I asked, still blissfully unaware of the trap I’d walked into.
He pointed again. I followed his finger.
And there she was. Divya, the girl I’d spent months admiring from a distance. She was now suddenly upgraded to my live practice session.
Somewhere in the background, I’m pretty sure I heard the Mission Impossible theme start playing. Just like that, my motivational speech to him transformed into a life lesson for me.
So there I was, standing like a freshly downloaded statue, processing what just happened. Ajay was grinning like he had just won an Olympic medal in setting people up.
I took a deep breath. It’s fine, I told myself. Just go say hi. Be normal.
Except, have you ever noticed how the word “normal” instantly stops meaning anything the moment you consciously think about it? My brain went into full chaos mode, heartbeat louder than my thoughts, palms sweaty enough to short-circuit a touchscreen.
Still, I started walking. Step by step. Each one slower than the last.
In my head, it looked like one of those confident hero entries from a movie. The wind was blowing, and the music was swelling. It felt like destiny was calling.
In reality, I was rehearsing the word “hi” like it was my final exam.
She was standing near the corridor, hands stretched out, feeling the light drizzle that had just started. And right then, for some reason known only to my nervous system, I said, “Excuse me.”
She turned.
And in that moment, everything I had rehearsed, imagined, and mentally prepared for just packed its bags and left.
She smiled and said, “Yes?”
And that was it. That one word was all it took for my confidence to evaporate completely. My mind went blank. Every smart, charming line I’d rehearsed vanished like it owed me money.
I just stood there, staring, trying to remember how human conversations worked. She kept smiling politely, probably wondering if I was buffering or just broken.
The silence was stretching too long now. Something had to be said. Anything. My brain screamed, Say something, idiot!
So I gathered all my courage, opened my mouth, and said, “Uh… excuse me… what’s the time?”
So I asked her the time.
And that’s when I knew – this story was never meant to end in romance. It was meant to end in a speech.
A few weeks later, that same disaster became my next Toastmasters project. The one titled Organize Your Speech. I walked up to the stage. I looked at the audience. I began, “Have you ever encountered a situation where your overconfidence dooms your fate?” By the time I reached the “what’s the time” part, people were laughing like it was a stand-up set.
And honestly, I couldn’t blame them. When I replayed it in my head, it was comedy gold. It was a perfect tale of courage, silence, and unmatched stupidity.
When the evaluations came in, they didn’t say I was awkward. They said I was confident. Which was funny, because I’d spent most of my speech confidently exposing my lack of confidence.
And then came the cherry on top – The Most Improved Speaker award.
Turns out, confidence isn’t built on perfect lines. It’s built on the courage to laugh at the imperfect ones.