We all know of Peter Pan of Neverland. The Boy Who Never Grew Up. He whom Wendy tried so hard to draw feelings from. The cocky character who irritated Hook no end. But what of Never Girl? Have we been told of her?

She lived in a castle on her dream cloud. She was different from all the other girls. She was like an oversized toddler that had lived for thirteen years. And her story is very much like Peter Pan’s, but she is yet to discover that.

He lived on the ground. He never dared to fly. He was like all the rest. And for no apparent reason should he be fancied by her, but that is exactly what Never Girl did.

One enchanted night, when she chose to give her long-untouched feet a taste of the coarse ground, she saw him. He was sprawled on the ground, staring at the seductive stars that had, for so long, intimidated him. He longed to, one day, touch a star, and to burn a hole through his neglected hand, so that he would no longer have to concern himself with the matter of manual work. She, too, longed to be lost. And it was on this fateful night that both parties sought freedom from their plain worlds, in search of some novelty that would make their lives more seasoned.

She was the first to spot him. Her dazed eyes adjusted to the darkness and to the handsome figure that so charmingly presented itself to them. She had never seen such beauty, beauty incomparable to the stars or the moon or her castle on her dream cloud. Although characterized by darkness, his figure was incandescent in her ensnared eyes. And she was drawn to it, like the predator to its prey. And with one swift and gentle movement, her pale finger landed on his shoulder.

His tender skin seared with pain for he had never been penetrated by foreign skin, like that of Never Girl- cold to the point of blisters, hot to the point of boils. He turned and faced his caller and, he would later find, his lover. They met. She greeted him with sweet, exotic gestures that were, to him, otherworldly. He greeted her with simple, common gestures that were equally strange to her. They then spent the night talking. They told each other of the worlds that dominated their adolescent minds. She told of her dream cloud and her castle. He told of his ground from which he stared at her sky. Then they spoke of the people that affected them and of world issues like oil prices and natural disasters in Pakistan. They spoke of so many wonderful and strange things that I cannot tell of them all, so I have decided to select only one.

They came to the point in their conversation when he began to have doubts about how she saw him. He was, at that depressing point, confused, very much, indeed. He knew most certainly what he felt for her. It is, without a doubt, tragic that such a passionate boy with such strong feelings should waste all of his love on one who did not even know of the word that was his feeling. And that pitiful boy, often intimidated though he was, finally came up with the courage to tell of his feelings, only to find that the one time he chose to face his fears was he belittled more so.

He had said to her, in that timid, wavering voice of his, “What are your feelings?”

“Feelings?” said she.

“Feelings, yes.” said he, compelled to push further on. “What of love? Do you feel love?”

“Yes.” she said, answering at once. Then, as quickly as she had given her answer, she changed it. “No.”

“You must feel something. Do you love me?”

“N-n-no. I d-d-don’t know.” she said as her quivering voice emitted the stuttered and chopped-up words.

“Do you love me? What are your feelings for me? Do you love me?” he said, his voice unstable and on the verge of breaking completely.

He kept on repeating that word. What was it? She knew nothing of it. She wished to still know nothing of it. It didn’t sound appealing at all. LOVE. It sounded like such a nuisance.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. Should I love you? Do you want me to?” she said, tears flowing freely now, like the words that came out of her tired mouth.

And it was then that he realized who she was. And he paused and took time to search through her innocent mind. As he feared but expected, there was nothing about love, save one dusty and ignored corner of her young mind where love was but a word that she encountered as she flipped through her Ladybird books. He stared at her crumpled figure, rapidly shrinking as she felt more and more grieved, sobs accompanying her somber movements. And as she performed her grievous number, he said goodbye to her. Bye-bye, Baby Girl. Love Girl. My Everything Girl. Fairy Girl. Feeling Girl.
Never Girl.