‘... of how the universe brought us together?’
‘I don’t believe in fate or the universe or cosmos or whatever.’
I lean forward. ‘Daksh, it’s the only explanation why we keep meeting. No matter what happens, our paths cross.’
‘I had always wondered who the audience of those gooey Instagram poets and pop philosophy writers was. You are.’
I shrug.
‘So much in this world is left unexplained. I think it’s arrogant to think we understand everything and have all the answers,’ Isay.
If I were to ask Daksh why he used to love me so passionately, or maybe still does, there’s no rational answer he could give. He, too, would say something like, I feel it in my soul. That’s no different from the mysterious power of the universe to make things happen. Or fate.
‘What’s your plan now?’ I ask Daksh. ‘Long term?’
I mask it like a career plan, but what I really want to ask him is what the future holds for us.
‘I have junked making plans. They have never worked out for me.’
‘So now you will be a dirty teenager caked in mud going on a drunken bike tour in Europe with a backpack of dirty clothes?’
‘You’re making the most exciting trip I’m going on sound horrible,’ he says with a chuckle.
He might not believe in the universe conspiring to put us in each other’s path but I do. The more time passes, the more I’m convinced of it. Daksh and I are made for each other—at least in parts, maybe not in whole. Words bubble at the back of my throat. I want to tell him this, but I weigh the possibilities ofwhat might happen. But when has our relationship followed reason?
‘I don’t want you to wake up in other girls’ hostel beds in Europe.’
He looks at me for a second. ‘No one’s lining up in Europe to sleep with me. As you just said, I will be dirty and caked inmud.’
‘You will come out of the shower, water dripping from your hair and all those white women will go crazy about your tanned, toned look. You know that’s what’s going to happen,’ I say, no longer bothering to mask the scorn in my voice.
‘I’m not going there for that. I’m going for the silence.’
‘There’s absolutely no need for a soul-searching Eurotrip. And absolutely no need to share common bathrooms with other hostel mates, some of whom will be women.’
He leans forward and locks his gaze with mine. I can smell his cologne. ‘It’s easier just to ask me not to go.’
‘I’m not telling you that.’
‘Then what are you telling me?’
The words come swiftly. ‘Take me along.’
He scans my face to understand how serious I am with my request. ‘And you’re going to stop me from sleeping with someone else?’
‘I will stab anyone who as much as looks at you.’
‘Are we a little stupid, Aanchal?’
‘We are. We were briefly mature when we met in Phuket. But mostly, we are stupid.’
10.
Aanchal Madan
I feel like a teenager obsessively staring at her phone for countless hours, desperately waiting for a text or a call. I evenswitched it off for a little while to stop checking it. But I’m pulled right back in moments later, enslaved by the need to hear from him again. I keep rewinding to our conversation and every time it sends tingles down my spine. We haven’t met or talked since our conversation at Haldiram’s except for his message in which he had asked for a date suitable for the visa interview and attached the visa form and the list of things I would require. Nothing about what’s there for us in the future, nothing about our conversation. It’s as if I had imagined the entire thing. Perhaps these forms were a test to see if I would really go along with him.
I haven’t sent the filled forms back and that may well be the reason why he hasn’t been texting me.
