After a good five minutes and a couple of glasses of water, I am ready to talk.
“What did Preeto Auntie say?” Anju shakes her head a few times, and I think it is to shake off various creative ways of killing Pappu.
I say in a low voice, “Raag told her that I need time to think. And he is not wrong. I did ask for more time.”
“So?” She looks baffled.
“That was for mothers. I did ask him to call me again to talk more!” I cry yet again. “And, he is not calling…you do the math.”
She giggles. “Me and math?” I wipe my eyes with a hanky as she continues, “It’s okay, Mayu…why are you so sad? You didn’t even want to talk to him, no!”
“Yes…but I do wish to talk to him now.” I sigh.
“Raag is not the only guy in this world!”
“I know…” Another sigh.
Anju announces, “Look at you, Mayuri. You are smart, good-looking and a girl with a heart of gold.” She pauses for a second, distracted by a few students entering the cafe. She adds, “And a golden skin tone! You can get any guy you want!”
There she goes. Being a good friend reminding me of my qualities.
“Mhmm…” I nod.
“Look, I know you like Raag, and he might be amazing. But just look around. There are many guys out there. Three hot guys from this college alone proposed to you. I am telling you, you’re high in demand. Look at your figure, sharp features, and gracious etiquette. You can get—”
I cut her mid-sentence before she becomes unstoppable and unconvincing. “Anju, let’s not talk about my figure, any of the guys who proposed, and also Raag,” I say, pulling my side bag off the table and hugging it for comfort.
She reminds me of those proposals, one of which was genuine. However, none of them made me go through such turmoil of emotions like this. No one ever clicked the way Raag did. His perfectly poised demeanor and serenity about himself is rare. There is a strange pull in my heart for him. I breathe in and out to steady my heartbeat.
“Anju, I want to go home…you can carry on with the labs,” I offer. Sadness is apparent in my demeanor, and I think I need some time alone with myself.
“Are you sure?” She is genuinely concerned. I nod in response and rise, picking up my bag.
“In case someone asks, I would tell them that you got sick,” Anju says, and inwardly I feel thankful to have her by my side.
“Okay.”
We start walking out of the Green Leaf Cafe in the crisp winter breeze.
She blabbers while we are walking. “It’s the multithreading lab. God knows why they have two different ways of creating threads instead of one.”
I sense that she is trying to cheer me up. If there is one person who hates this IT field more than I do, it’s her. But I know that right now, her sole purpose in life is to cheer me up and make me forget Raag.
I am sure if she knew black magic, she wouldn’t hesitate to try it on me, even if the side effects include total memory loss. After all, what are friends for?
Switching two auto rickshaws and a bus, finally, I am home. It is 1:30 PM and I am lucky, as my mother has gone out for some chores. My sister is not back from school either. I have plenty of time, an empty house, and enough privacy for crying my heart out.
I change into my shabby old purple pajamas—a T-shirt and pants, for comfort—and sit on my bed, crossing my legs and hands. Of course, Raag’s picture is in my book on my lap, and I am spellbound. It’s hard to breathe while thinking he has moved on and started talking with other girls. Sadly, I am not even a consideration. Yet why has my heart refused to believe that Raag has indeed moved on? Something is amiss.
Putting the book aside, I get up and sit on the revolving chair near the computer. I put some songs on my computer and stare at his biodata.
What is it about him that is unnerving? Why have those two calls shaken my existence? Why is there an overpowering urge to hear his voice? Oh, those heart-stopping chuckles… I keep trying to breathe in as much oxygen as possible. But my heart does not find enough. I have to find a solution. For now, I lay on the bed closing my eyes.
“Mayu! Come! Eat!” I hear my mother calling.
I spring right off the bed, eyes wide open. I must have fallen asleep. Inexplicably, tears roll down my cheeks. I don’t know the reason behind them. I better hide. Hide in the cave and never come out.
My mother would be persistent until my stomach had some rice and lentils in it. So, unwantedly, I wash my face, put on some cream, and wear my anti-glare reading glasses to hide swollen red eyes.
Downstairs, in the living room, I perch on our small end table near the sofa.
My mother is preoccupied in discussion with our housemaid about some dirty plates. My father and sister are still not home, and that makes it a perfect opportunity to disappear unnoticed.
While I eat, I pretend to watch some celebrity dance competition on the television in which a young, tall, dark and handsome man who ethnically looks like he is from India but has a flawless British accent is spreading his charms over the audience. I wonder what’s up with girls going gaga over guys with an accent. My guy has an accent too, a bit of an American accent.
Did you call Raag your guy?
Around 8:00 in the evening, I lay on my bed, staring at the motionless ceiling fan, restless. It is getting a little chilly, but I feel tired from the emotional roller-coaster to get up and get a blanket. At least, now I know that Raag is giving me time to think and so he is not going to call.
There is a missing piece to the puzzle, though. It is a question that why is he giving me time to think without continuing our calls? I could still have time while we talked a few times more.
Another missing piece is that why am I restless to hear his soothing voice? If he is giving me time, I should use it and decide what I want from this arrangement.
Why can’t I wait? Why is there a dull ache in my heart? What is it?
Eyes wide open and heart pumping, I wake up with a jolt, feeling like I plunged from a high-rise building. Sweating, I sit on my bed, not sure how long it has been.
After a couple of deep breaths, I check the wall clock and it’s half-past 8:00. I probably fell asleep while seeking answers for my complex problems. Though my brain feels rested, my heart still suffers that dull ache.
I get up and head out onto the balcony for fresh air. It is, as usual, dark outside with softly lit orange street lights, and a few scooters and cars are parked near busy houses. There is the usual dinnertime hustling and bustling in the homes on both sides, while a few old ladies sit out on benches. Kids are playing tag, and some are riding bikes.
The air is filled with hot and spicy food aromas and music playing in the distance. Everything is as normal as it could be, except for one thing—myself. I put my palms on my forehead and look up in the dark sky filled with numerous stars in the hopes of finding some magical solution to the puzzle.
While I am intently gazing at the stars, I witness a shooting star, and the momentary streak of light sparks my eyes.
It is at this moment, it strikes my hazy mind as if the shooting star enlightened my heart, and I have the answer.
Oh, God! I take a deep, deep breath. So, this is how it feels! The comprehension of what has happened to me is inexplicable, scary, and exciting. Being a movie bug and dreamy, I should have figured this out earlier. I think I know what I need to do. Raag only suggested that I have a right to choose the path I want in life, no matter how crazy that is.