Stories Of Young Love by Abhilash Gaur Read Free Book Online

business?”
    “Of course,” I
said stupidly. This was no dreamer-loser. The man was an absolute
go-getter, only he wasn’t going and getting what everyone else was
after.
    “So you found out
she had been reading your blog and wrote to her?”
    “Why can’t you
think for a moment that she, not I, broke the ice? If I had to make
a move, I would have done so 10 years ago.”
    “Sorry, that’s not
what I meant. I am just curious how you two got in touch
again.”
    “Nothing happened
for a while,” he said, “and I didn’t expect anything to happen
although it’s true that I was angry when she didn’t read the piece
on her birthday. But she kept returning to it, and I was satisfied.
I felt happy even, like the old times when she was mine.”
    He got up and
paced about the room in agitation.
    “I swear I didn’t
want it to turn out like this. I was happy, supremely happy, to
know, to see, that she still cared enough to read what I had
written, and kept returning to it every few days or weeks. But she,
although she hasn’t told me this, seemed eager to get in touch
again.”
    “How?”
    “Oh, you know that
mirror site you made for the blog...I never shared the link,
although anyone who Googles my name can find it on my profile.
After a while she started visiting it instead of the blog, as if it
was adulterous to read the main one. The only way she could have
found the mirror was by doing a name search. SHE searched for MY
name, okay.”
    He sat down and
thought for a while. “She left an anonymous congratulatory note on
the mirror, but had to enter her email ID for verification, so I
got my first definite proof. I was so agitated after it that I
deleted the mirror site. I honestly did not intend to cause an
upheaval in anyone’s life, even my own.”
    “But it didn’t end
there,” I said.
    “No, although at
first it seemed to. Last month, she posted two comments on the
blog, anonymous of course, but I knew the words, her style. And
then I couldn’t hold myself back any longer. I already had her
email ID and wrote to her that I knew she was there, across the
screen, that I felt I could touch her, that time and distance would
have to collapse if I made a move. And then I regretted writing
it.”
    I sensed his
turmoil and didn’t feel jealous or angry anymore. I wanted to help
him but also felt that it would be wrong. For whom, her family, the
society? I don’t know.
    “But it was too
late. She wrote some days later that she felt the same way, and
would I meet her? And again, I listened to my heart instead of my
head. I thought I would lose her by replying with a ‘no’. If
somebody could assure me she would continue reading whatever I
write and reserve a little space for me in her heart, I would still
stop her from coming. But that cannot be. I have to meet her the
morning after.”
    We were both quiet
for a while after this. At last I asked him, “What do you want me
to do?”
    “Nothing. I just
wanted you to be here with me. I was too agitated, confused,
disturbed. I am fine now.”
    I heaved myself
off the sofa with a sigh and went to my room. It was way past my
bedtime, and his too. When I woke up, it was already noon but there
was no Adil or coffee at the table. The newspaper was neatly folded
up with a note stuck on it: “Don’t wait for me over lunch, old
chap, I need to buy some clothes. Can’t wear yours to meet Z. I
have your wallet but your ID card and cab fare are under the
biscuit tin”.
    Fuck! this has
gone too far. I have to throw out Adil. The man is a disgrace.
    I left for the
hospital in the evening thinking along these lines and when I got
home after the extra long drive to drop the woman colleague, you
can imagine I was in no state for any more of Adil’s nonsense. But
I had to put up with an even worse case of the nerves this time. He
had bought half a dozen shirts and trousers and these were spread
over the divan and the sofa while he tied himself up in knots over
which one