Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. There is no resemblance to charactors dead or alive. This story has been inspired from vivid memories of a novel I once read, but do not remember the name of now.

Do you remember, dear, the days so long ago when we were at school and the chemistry lab where you and I worked over messy experiments and grew to know each other? Your family had just moved to our town; I learned that your father came from a distinguished family and was a business magnate. You only knew that I was a dressmaker's son.

But I was taken into your crowd because I was the football captain and head of class. When I told my mother that you were going to the school dance with me, her tired eyes clouded. She knew that my waking thoughts were only of you, but she also knew that the gulf between our families could not be easily bridged. Yet she did not tell me that, she said only that she wished I had a new and classy suit to wear. I assured her that my grey one would be fine.

Outsider. When I arrived at your house to take you to the dance, you came down in a pale blue dress, your face was like a flower, pink roses in your cheeks, and there were golden sparkles in your hair. You gazed up at me with a smile unmindful of my cheap suit. You must have seen something in my eyes which a man reserves for sacred moments.

Then your mother came in, and I was aware not so much of disapproval but of tolerance. There was a subtle difference in her attitude towards me and the others in your crowd. In her presence I was awkward and inarticulate. That night we danced together till the last song and there gold specs in your eyes even when it was time to say goodbye. Do you remember that last dance?

Do you remember the little cafe near the beach. It used to be the place where us middle class kids would hang out. But that year your group decided to do some slumming and you hung out with me till late in the evenings and walked along the beach with your slippers in your hand and moonlight glinting off your hair. I would give you my coat to wear when it got cold. Do you remember feeling warm and smiling up at me?

Then one evening, you were leaving the next day to go to college and I got a parttime job here since I couldn't afford to go. You stood facing me and asked when I would see you next.
"I've got a job starting next week," I said. It isn't much at first but there's a chance to work my way up. And I'll make good. I've got to."

"You will," you said. "I know that." You moved closer. "Jack," you said softly, "I want you to come for my college dance with me next year. Will you come?" "Yes," I promised.
I reached down and took your hands. You raised your face and put your arms around me and your lips, which I had never touched, lightly brushed against my cheek. The stars came down and enveloped us and you said, "I shall always remember tonight."

Straight to college. I wrote to you often but you wrote back once saying your mom had told her not to write to me regularly. After that I wrote only twice a week. At the end of July, your sister told your parents you were mooning around and did not play tennis or attend music classes because you wanted to 'write a letter to me'. After that our correspondence became a rare and much awaited for event. Those were the longest months.

I came for your college dance. I rented a suit for it as I had nothing suitable for the evening. Even the cheapest hotel was too expensive for me, so I walked the streets until I found a boarding-house which I could afford. At dinner you introduced me to your friends, but I couldn't think of anything appropriate to say. I became aware that my dinner jacket was old fashioned; that grey shoes were not proper with evening clothes. Somehow I suffered the hour through. We then walked to the gymnasium where the dance was held while other took cabs. During the first dance I noticed that all the other girls wore flowers. I hadn't bought any for you, I hadn't known I was expected to.
"I'm sorry about the flowers," I said. You looked at me with a hint of tears in your eyes. "The flowers don't matter," you said.

At the end of the evening, you said, "Oh Jack, I wanted you to have a good time tonight...but you didn't." "No," I said, "it was a mistake having me here. I just don't belong." I put my hands on your shoulders and said, "If in years to come you should think of me, will you remember that I love you very much?"
And you closed your eyes, swaying towards me, and said, "Oh Jack, don't say that!" I thought you meant I shouldn't say I loved you and so we said goodbye. That sunday, I wrote you a restrained letter thanking you for the wonderful time I had. You never replied. One week followed another and I only had memories of you.

Do you remember dear? The years have gone by...30 in all and tomorrow we shall celebrate our twenty fifth wedding anniversary for one fine day I bumped into you again on the street and I knew you loved me. You told me yourself.

You are worried now about your daughter, as your mother was once worried about you. She is 20 years old and thinks she is in love. I am asking you to let the young man have a chance. You can decide about him after you read this clumsy attempt to recreate our own romance. It is my anniversary present to you.

Perhaps we can ask him to our dinner at the country club. He will probably be ill at ease with a famous biographer, a government official and other distinguished guests. He will probably wear hired evening clothes and may not know what to talk about.

But a long time ago, you invited a poor boy to a college dance. Do you remember?

Do you remember that he loved you? He still does.