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The Girl in Room 105 © CHETAN BHAGAT

         


                   

     
Prologue


On board IndiGo flight 6E766 HYD–DEL
‘Fasten your seatbelts, please. We are passing through turbulence,’ the flight
attendant announced.
Eyes shut, I fumbled to find the belt. I couldn’t.
‘Fasten your seatbelt, sir,’ the flight attendant personally reminded me.
She looked at me like I was one of those dumb passengers who couldn’t
follow simple instructions.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ I said. Where was the other end of my belt, anyway? My
head hurt from a lack of sleep.
I had spent the whole day in Hyderabad at an education conference and
was on the last midnight flight back to Delhi.
Damn, where the hell was my buckle?
‘You are sitting on your belt,’ the person next to me said.
‘Oh, stupid me!’ I said, finally clicking my belt shut. My eyes still
refused to open.
‘Tough flight, isn’t it?’ he said.
‘Tell me about it,’ I said. ‘I need a coffee.’
‘No service at the moment—because of the turbulence,’ he said. ‘Going
for an event?’
‘Returning from one,’ I said, somewhat surprised. How did he know?
‘Sorry, I saw your boarding pass. Chetan Bhagat. The author, right?’
‘Right now a zombie.’
He laughed.
‘Hi, I am Keshav Rajpurohit.’
An awkward side-by-side handshake followed.
We passed through angry clouds. They didn’t like this hard metal object
disturbing them. The aircraft rattled like a pebble in a tin. I clutched the armrests, a futile search for stability at thirty-eight thousand feet.
‘Nasty, eh?’ Keshav said.
I breathed deeply through my mouth and shook my head. Relax, it’s
going to be okay, I told myself.
‘Isn’t it amazing? We are in this big metal box floating in the sky. We
have absolutely no control over the weather. A strong gust of wind could rip
this plane apart,’ he said in a calm voice.
‘That’s comforting, Keshav,’ I said.
He laughed again.
Half an hour later, the weather had calmed down. The flight attendants
resumed cabin service. I ordered two cups of coffee for myself.
‘Would you like one, too?’ I said.
‘No coffee. Do you have plain milk?’ he said to the flight attendant.
‘No, sir. Just tea, coffee and soft drinks,’ the flight attendant said.
Where did he think he was? A dairy farm? And how old was he?
Twelve?
‘Tea, then,’ he said, ‘with extra milk sachets.’
I gulped down my first cup of coffee. I felt like a phone with low battery
that had finally met a charger. I rebooted, at least for a few minutes. I
noticed the night sky outside, the stars sprayed across it.
‘You look better now,’ Keshav commented.
I turned at an angle to look at him properly.
A handsome face with striking eyes, deep and brown. They looked like
they had seen more life than a man his age, which I guessed was around mid-
twenties. Even in the dark, his eyeballs gleamed.
‘I am addicted to this stuff,’ I said, pointing to the cup. ‘Not good.’
‘Worse things to be addicted to,’ Keshav said.
‘Cigarettes? Alcohol?’ I said.
‘Even worse.’
‘Drugs?’ I whispered.
‘Even worse.’
‘What?’ I said.
‘Love.’ This time he whispered.
I laughed so hard, coffee spilled out of my nose.
‘Deep,’ I said, and patted the back of his hand on the armrest. ‘That’s
deep, buddy. I guess coffee isn’t so bad then.’
He ran a hand through his hair—which he wore short, in a military
crew-cut—and touched the gold stud that glinted in his left ear.
‘What do you do for a living, Keshav?’ I said.
‘I teach.’
‘Oh, nice. What do you…’
‘I am from your college.’
‘Really?’
‘IIT Delhi. Class of 2013.’
‘You just reminded me how old I am,’ I said. Both of us laughed.
‘Actually, I might have a story for you,’ he said.
‘Oh no, not again,’ I blurted out, and then kicked myself mentally for
being so blunt. Exhaustion had made me forget my manners.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude,’ I said.
‘It’s fine,’ he said and rubbed his hands together. ‘Wrong of me to
presume you would want to listen to it. I’m sure people come up to you all the
time.’
‘Sometimes they do. But I didn’t have to be obnoxious. Sorry.’
‘It’s okay,’ he said. He stared at the seat in front of him.
‘I’m tired. Mind if I rest?’ I said. He didn’t respond.
I shut my eyes. I wanted to sleep, but couldn’t. The overdose of caffeine
and guilt prevented me from dozing off.
I opened my eyes after twenty minutes. Keshav was still staring at the
seat in front of him.
‘Maybe I can hear your story in short,’ I said.
‘Don’t feel obligated,’ he said, still looking in front.
Of course, I feel obligated, dude. Especially if you sulk and don’t make
eye contact.
‘Listen,’ I said, ‘here’s the thing. You said addicted to love. So, it’s
probably a love story. I am tired of love stories. Really, another Chetan
Bhagat love story? Such a cliché now. I want to write something else. Not
just about two people pining away. Who does that these days, anyway?
Nowadays, people don’t fall in love. They swipe left and right…’
‘It’s not a love story,’ he said, interrupting my blabber.
‘Really?’ I said, one eyebrow up. ‘And can you please look at me when
you talk?’
He turned to face me.


Click here to read the entire story




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