Here's how part 3 goes. Scroll down further for parts 1 & 2.
It started with an argument, turned into a fight and finally into a unbridgeable rift. I never understood what meteor hit my happy world but everything was in tatters within a course of a few days. She stopped taking my calls. I was shut out of her world with no rhyme or reason being offered. I was hurt. I had never become attached so strongly to anyone outside my family, and that umbilical cord was cut off in one straight blow. I went into a clinical depression. I had trouble getting out of bed in the morning, spent my nights in quiet desperation, imagining and extrapolating how life would or should have otherwise been. Life, it seemed, had rationed out my share of happiness to the nether world.
They say that time is the biggest healer. And they say it right. As months rolled on, I started getting used to the singledom that has hitherto been my loyal partner. But the relationship with Capri was far from over. Her previous boyfriend came back to haunt her life and she lent on me for support yet again. Enslaved by feelings that could never be buried, I did whatever I could, and fortunately, it worked.
With this commenced a new found friendship. People say that the only thing more uncomfortable than interacting with your ex is getting hit by a Waqar Younis full toss in the wrong place. However, our relationship had evolved with time into a healthy friendship where we could share things with each other, or so I thought. A glass once cracked is never the same again, though.
As I was thinking about Capri, my nerves relaxed. I had no reason to meet Professor with the trepidation and nervousness of a guy meeting the girl of his dreams in an “Oh-my-god-I-didn’t-think-this-through” encounter. I had been in a relationship and out of a relationship. Surely, my feelings for her were long gone now. I could now interact with her freely, like the friend I never wanted to be but would now hope to be. At the same time, I was doing the mathematical calculations of how jealous Capri would feel on learning about my meeting with Professor. Girls can be so endearing yet so annoying.
The taxi took a turn and I could see the airport in the distance. “Buy a gift at least, you fool”, someone called from inside my cranium. I looked out of the window and saw a duty-free gift store. I asked the cab-driver to stop, paid and entered the shop, hoping to find a gift that would make up for the decade of lost connection with the girl who had been the first for whom I had thought “that” way. And I soon realized that no amount of chocolates or books or photo-frames were compensation enough. I needed something big – something that she would like to remember for the remainder of her life. “You don’t remember things all your life, you remember times”, hollered the same voice from inside the cranium.
And it was right – the gift of good times it was to be.
I went ahead and bought a bouquet, a book and a box of chocolates – basic ingredients when you are brewing the greeting recipe for a girl. As the gifts were being wrapped, I glanced a look at my watch – it was an hour past the time I was supposed to be meeting her. Being the professor Professor was, a brutal assault was on the cards. I picked up the gift bag in a jiffy and rushed towards the airport lounge. As I entered through the gates, I heard a familiar voice, in a volume that could have put the screaming frontmen of religious carnivals to shame – “What kind of an airport is this? You don’t even have wi-fi here. I want internet on my laptop and I want it now”. This was vintage Professor.
As the airport personnel were trying to pacify the unpacifiable customer, I quietly tiptoed my way into the seat beside hers, pulled open a newspaper and started reading through my ears. “Ok ma’m, we’ll arrange for something”, said the lounge manager and sped off faster than he would have, had he seen his wife and girlfriend together. “Facilities at this airport suck”, she threw a puff in the air. “Yes, yes” was all I found myself uttering, concealed beneath the guise of the Economic Times. “And some people never get out of the habit of professing” was my next sentence. Moments later, I found myself being rapped on the head with the same Economic Times. “15 minutes does not mean 90 minutes, you fool. You know how long I’ve been waiting for you?”, shouted the Professor, much to the entertainment of the bemused passengers in the lounge. The question echoed in my head. I vaguely wished the answer was “10 years”.
After she had hit me to her heart’s delight, she sat down beside me. It was then that I noticed her. I saw her face, her horn-rimmed spectacles, her characteristic anger puffs, her flowing hair, her perfectly curled lips, her eyes glimmering with the joy she filled in every place she visited, and her trillion-dollar smile. She hadn’t changed one bit. And I realized why I had fallen for her. I uttered in a trembling voice – “Coffee?” “Ya, sure. I’ll pay for myself”, said the ever-so-self-respecting Professor. We proceeded for coffee.
“What’s that in your bag”, queried the Professor casting a surreptitious glance at my second-ever love package. “Nothing, just some stuff”, I replied. I was determined not to let this one meet the same fate as the first one – a waterly demise in the city river. As we strolled towards the coffee shop, I noticed a book in her hand - “Wuthering Heights”. It was not the book or its title that caught my attention, but the small piece of paper sticking out of it. She tucked it in as I, back to my chivalrous spirits of ten years ago, pulled out a chair for her highness. But there was an uncomfortable anomaly in the midst of what my mind had concocted as a perfect harmony – the piece of paper fluttered in the recesses of my gray matter. What was it?
As the authors said, "Not everything in life, like cricket, goes according to plan". So, wait for Part 4, which will definitely be the last. No surprises this time :)
(To be concluded...)
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