The Girl of My Dreams

by Durjoy Datta

  He pinned his ear to the door. Someone was inside. He looked around for a bat or a rod or anything and found a piece of wood. Positioning himself a couple of yards away from the door, he kicked the door open and shouted something unintelligible in the air and then stopped mid-shriek . .

  . He dropped his hands.

  ‘Fuck! What are you doing here? How . . . How did you get in?’ asked Daman.

  Her face was ice, her voice steel. ‘Where’s your phone?’ Avni asked, her eyes sore from crying.

  Daman flapped around for his phone and took it out. ‘Must be on silent,’ he said after looking at the screen.

  Avni dialled his number and the phone rang. Daman disconnected the call.

  ‘Silent, huh?’

  Daman fumbled an apology.

  ‘What’s this, Daman?’ asked Avni, pointing to the sheets of papers kept on the table.

  Daman picked them up. They were the printouts he had taken of the synopsis of his next book but

  . . . He flipped through the sheets of paper. The lines had been brutally cut and censored. Big cross marks in black marker crowded the pages.

  ‘Who’s done this?’ Avni asked aloud. The name Avni was systematically blacked out and the words SLUT, BITCH, WHORE, were written everywhere where Daman and Avni appeared in the same sentence.

  ‘What . . . how . . .’ He knew.

  Avni’s eyes smouldered. ‘Please don’t lie to me any more.’ Her body shook with little sobs. She wiped off the tears on her sleeve. ‘I know about Shreyasi. Sumit told me everything.’

  ‘Let me explain—’

  ‘When did she come back?’ she mumbled. ‘When were you thinking of telling me? She was here, wasn’t she? She’s the one who has called me a slut, hasn’t she?’

  Daman frowned.

  Avni couldn’t even bring herself to look at him. ‘I read the texts from her. Have you guys slept together? How often does she come here? You still love her, don’t you? How—’

  ‘Enough.’ Daman cut in. ‘No one comes here, okay? I didn’t cheat on you. And I didn’t know about this fucking synopsis till you showed it to me!’

  Avni wiped her tears with the back of her hand and looked at him. ‘How much of a fool do you think I am? You go missing for days on end, don’t pick my calls, and then there’s this.’ She pointed to the pages and looked back at him with questioning eyes. ‘What did I do to you to deserve this?’

  ‘Avni—’

  ‘What kind of a person are you?’

  ‘I’m not lying about anything, okay? Will you—’

  ‘It all makes sense now,’ she muttered, her words slurring between the sobs. ‘This is why you didn’t want to make me meet your parents. I’m so stupid. I’m so, so stupid. Shit.’ She buried her face in her palms.

  ‘Let me expla—’

  ‘I should have listened to my friends. He’s a writer. Don’t date him. I made a fool out of myself, didn’t I? I should have just said yes to the guy—’

  ‘You need to stop crying and listen to me.’

  ‘WHAT—’

  ‘Don’t shout, Avni. And FUCKING LISTEN TO ME. Yes, SHREYASI is back but I’m NOT dating her. I have met her only thrice.’

  Avni threw her hands up. She picked up her bag to leave.

  Daman held her. ‘Listen to me for five minutes,’ he said. ‘You remember the girl whom you gave a lift to on the day of the book launch? Ashi? It was Shreyasi, not Ashi. She met me with a different

  name at the British Council before that but I didn’t know she was Shreyasi. Yes, I do get nightmares about her but I didn’t remember her face. Didn’t Sumit tell you that? I hardly remember anything from Goa. She stalked us. She stalked you. She even got to Puchku. She pretended to be a fan and walked her home one day from the metro station.’

  ‘Why . . . why would she do that?’ asked Avni, her face still blank.

  ‘She didn’t like the book. She thought I disrespected her in the book.’

  ‘This makes no sense,’ she said. Daman made her sit down and told her everything that had happened till then.

  ‘How can you not remember anything from Goa?’

  Daman told her about the PTSD and the dissociative amnesia. While Avni googled, he told her,

  ‘Sometimes the mind locks away painful memories so that the body is saved from the trauma. It’s a coping mechanism. It’s common in kids who are molested by their relatives. The memories are locked so that their relationships with the perpetrators aren’t affected.’

  He told her how his family and Sumit had constantly reminded him that it was Shreyasi and not him who was driving the car. ‘But she told me it was I who was behind the wheel. I can’t seem to take it well.’

  Avni closed the browser and put her phone away. ‘So you’re not in love with her?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘But that means she also broke in here,’ said Avni, looking at the synopsis of the book.

  ‘It seems like she did.’

  ‘This is serious,’ she said. ‘What are we going to do? Come sit here. Stop walking around. It’s freaking me out even more,’ said Avni. She took his hands into hers and rubbed them. She continued, ‘I had no idea. I just—I’m so sorry. I just got so angry. I shouldn’t have said those things.’

  ‘I should have told you. I just thought it will pass.’

  ‘So what are you going to do about her, Daman? She ruined your deal. God knows what she will do next.’

  ‘We will have to talk her out of this somehow,’ said Daman.

  Avni sighed. She put her head on his shoulder and slipped her hands around him.

  ‘Sumit was quite shocked to know that Shreyasi is back.’

  ‘He hates her.’

  ‘I sensed that,’ she said. She added after a pause, ‘Is there any way she is not Shreyasi?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What if she’s just a reader obsessed with you and your character? What if she modelled herself on the character once she found out that they shared the same name? Maybe she’s just some random

  Shreyasi who’s pretending to be the girl in the car.’

  ‘I thought of that as well but that can’t be,’ said Daman. ‘She mailed me from the same email ID that Shreyasi used to.’

  ‘Daman? There’s something you should know about that email ID. Maybe Shreyasi isn’t back.’

  27

  A couple of hours after his numerous texts to Shreyasi had gone unanswered, Daman’s phone rang.

  ‘Hey. Hi, Shreyasi. I have been texting you all morning!’

  ‘I know. I was out somewhere. What was so urgent?’

  ‘I want to talk about us,’ he answered.

  ‘About us? This is a welcome start. So tell me, what do you want to talk about us?’ she said.

  ‘Not like this. I want to meet you. I want to do this in person.’

  ‘Whoa. Tiger. Slow down. What happened? You’re scaring me now. Did you remember something?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. It’s still the same,’ said Daman. ‘Can you meet me right now?’

  ‘I like whatever’s gotten into you, baby. Where do you want to meet? Hey? Do you want to come over? Akash has gone to the embassy to sort out his visa. We will have a couple of hours. If you don’t mind you can . . .’

  ‘Umm . . . I don’t think that would be wise. It would . . . feel wrong,’ said Daman.

  ‘Look at you, all morally upright. Fine, you pick a place and I will be there. Maybe I will tell you all that we had done together. You won’t behave like such a goody two shoes then.’

  ‘Hmmmm . . . Do you think you can come to South Extension? The Costa Coffee on the first floor in about an hour?’

  ‘. . .’

  ‘Are you there Shreyasi?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here. I’m just a little overwhelmed . . .’ Her voice trailed off. ‘I’m just so happy that you came around, baby. Thank you so much, Daman.’

  ‘So you will be there?’

  ‘Of course I wi
ll be there.’

  An hour later, Daman was waiting for Shreyasi at Costa Coffee, South Extension. He wore a crisp white shirt, blue trousers and a pair of black loafers. He tried Sumit’s number again. All his previous calls had gone unanswered but this time Sumit answered the call. ‘Hey? Where the hell were you? I’ve called you a hundred times at least since morning.’

  ‘Only like ten.’

  ‘Okay, listen. This is really important. First of all, I know Avni came to you and you’re an asshole for not telling me that. Secondly, she also told me about the fake ID you created under

  Shreyasi’s name. Now—’

  ‘She asked me not to tell you. And you know I made that email for your good. You needed to stop thinking about her,’ grumbled Sumit.

  ‘Yeah, whatever, Bhaiya. But Shreyasi is back now.’

  ‘Avni was telling me the same nonsense. I told Avni that the girl must be some obsessed reader, that’s all. It couldn’t be Shreyasi in a hundred years.’

  ‘That’s what we are beginning to think as well. If this Shreyasi is an imposter, there must be a real one out there, right? Avni and I spent the entire morning trying to get to some official of the hospital Shreyasi and I were taken to so I could get some records.’

  ‘Did you find something?’

  ‘The hospital shifted somewhere else and they only have records going back six months.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘We also tried contacting the police. But the FIR registered only had Shreyasi’s first name. So we kind of hit a roadblock. But then, Avni suggested something. You must have seen Shreyasi in the hospital, right? If I send you a picture of Shreyasi, you can tell us whether it’s her?’ asked Daman.

  ‘Um . . .’

  ‘Please tell me, you would be able to recognize her,’ urged Daman. ‘Otherwise it’s going to be a wild goose chase trying to confirm this girl’s identity.’

  ‘I . . . I . . . think I do remember her,’ said Sumit.

  Jackpot! Daman smiled. ‘That’s awesome! You fucking made my day, Bhaiya. Okay, look, I’m seeing her in a few minutes. I will try to click a picture and send it to you. If she’s the girl, let me know ASAP, okay?’

  ‘But I don’t understand why you are doing all this? Are you still in love with Shreyasi?’

  ‘Me? I broke out of that fantasy the minute it got real,’ said Daman. ‘Oh shit. She’s here. I will just send a picture if I manage to get one.’

  28

  He noticed Shreyasi outside the coffee shop, looking at her reflection and fixing her hair. Dressed in a striped shirt and black pencil trousers, she looked striking. Pretending to look into his phone, he clicked a picture and shot it across to Sumit. Shreyasi smiled brightly when she noticed Daman and waved at him. She trotted towards him and hugged him. Daman placed his hands on the small of her back. She didn’t let go for a few seconds. Daman waited for the picture to reach Sumit. The network was weak.

  ‘Sit?’ said Daman and pulled the chair back for her. She had been crying, he noticed. ‘Did you have any trouble finding the place?’

  Shreyasi giggled. ‘You really remember nothing,’ she remarked. ‘This is the one of only two places you could sit and write. You told me that.’

  ‘Did I tell you I wanted to be a writer?’

  ‘Yes, you did. You never thought you would actually manage it but look at you now!’ She beamed and held his hand. ‘Do you want to eat something?’

  They ordered a couple of wheat-bread sandwiches and coffee to go with it. While chewing through a big bite of her sandwich, mustard dripping from her fingers, she asked, ‘So what did you want to talk about us? The sandwiches here are so good! Eat.’

  Taking a small bite from sandwich, he asked, ‘I want to know about us. Like you said, I remember nothing. How did we start dating? We were at the same hotel, right? But how did we start a conversation? Who approached whom? Who said the first line? You or I? What did we talk about?’

  She has to slip up somewhere, Daman thought as he waited for her to answer. She smiled again, covering her teeth with a tissue. ‘Is there a list of questions you have written down? I can mail my answers across if that suits you.’ She licked her fingers and then wiped them clean.

  ‘I want to reconstruct the events and chronology in my head. So what if I don’t remember? I can imagine. I’m good at that,’ said Daman and winked at her.

  She held his hand and kissed it. ‘Yes, you are. But I’m so happy we are doing this. Does Avni know that you’re breaking up with her?’

  Daman frowned. ‘I never said I’m breaking up with her, Shreyasi. I have been with her for over a year. That’s a lot more than the three days I spent with you. You asked me to write about you and not her. Isn’t that why you slashed out the parts of the book?’

  ‘That’s true but—’

  Daman cut in, trying to be as soft as he could with her. He kissed her hand and said, ‘I don’t see any reason for me to break up with her to achieve that, just like you don’t have any reason to leave your husband. Am I right or am I missing something here?’

  Her face hardened. ‘There’s a difference. You love her, you are attached to her, I know that now.

  I feel nothing for my husband. He can drown in his next posting for all I care,’ she said coldly.

  ‘Avni has given me a lot of her time and care and I can’t be unfair to her,’ argued Daman. ‘You can understand because you have been in love—’

  ‘Correction. I’m in love.’

  Be gentle, Daman reminded himself. Let her make a mistake. ‘Yes, you are in love and so you know how crushed she would feel. Both of you love me, but what I want to understand here is why

  I should give you precedence over her in my life and my book? Three days, that’s all we shared.

  Make me understand what was it in those three days that should make me put you ahead of her?’

  ‘. . .’

  ‘Oh, c’mon. You can’t cry. I’m just trying to reason with you,’ said Daman and raised his hands.

  ‘It was much more than three days.’

  ‘Yes, I know that after—’

  Shreyasi cut him. ‘I have been with you longer, Daman. I have been in the shadows but I have always been there, guarding you, loving you, watching you. Before Avni, even before the accident, before Goa, before everything.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  With sad eyes and a smile on her face she said, ‘You always wanted your love story to start in a library, didn’t you?’

  I never told anybody that. ‘Yes. How do you know?’

  ‘And that’s exactly how we met in Goa.’

  ‘So? What effect—’

  ‘It wasn’t by accident, it was planned. For you our love story in Goa must have been serendipity, a start of something wonderful, but I had planned it months in advance.’ She ran her fingers over the side of his face. ‘You might have met me for the first time in Goa but I had met you before. Several times. You might have just spent three days with me but I had spent months with you before that. Do you know where we first met?’

  Daman shook his head. ‘No.’

  She smiled softly and looked around. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Three years ago. A year before the accident.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Daman, totally at a loss.

  ‘Remember your last year in college at DTU?’

  ‘What has that to do with anything?’ he asked.

  ‘You used to come here quite a lot. You would finish the classes at your college and then take the 769 bus here. You could have taken the metro every day but you always chose the bus. It gave you an uninterrupted two hours to read the books you carried in your backpack.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ asked Daman, shocked.

  ‘Will you let me complete or are you going to keep interrupting me?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘More often than not, you would be in frayed grey T-shirts which you had too many of, jeans and chappals. You would get down at the b
us stop and head straight to this coffee shop. Earlier, you usually ordered Americanos because they used to be cheaper. Sometimes you would get your own coffee sachets and add it to the water here when no one was looking.’ She pointed to a desk with a couple of public computers on it. ‘You only used to sit on that one. This is where I first saw you,

  hunched over a computer, typing the entire time I was here. Unlike the others, you didn’t need anyone. You stared at the screen like no one existed. That’s the day I felt something I hadn’t ever felt before. I didn’t know that feeling was love.’

  ‘But—’

  She continued as if he hadn’t interrupted her. ‘I started coming here more often to look at you.

  You were just another college boy here to finish your assignments, freeloading on the Internet here.

  I would sit on this seat where we are sitting now and watch you type endlessly. Sometimes, you would order a coffee and I would be standing right beside you. Sometimes, our bodies would touch. You would smile shyly and apologise. I started stealing the tissues you used, the cups your lips touched, the stirrers you held in your hands. Slowly, a little drawer in my cupboard became a treasure chest of your things. Before I knew it, a month had passed. You were a part of my life, the most important part. I used to look forward to the evenings. I would come here after my office hours and watch you for hours. All my weariness would get washed away by the sight of you. But one day, you just stopped coming. For a week, I sat where we are sitting right now and spent hours waiting for you. My heart broke. I had to do something. I traced you back to your college and found that your library had just got equipped with high-speed Internet. Now being in your college library every day without raising suspicion was tough so I had to lure you back to this cafe. And that’s when you won the loyal-member card of this cafe that allowed you free coffee and a doughnut every time you came here. You thanked me for it by never writing in your college library again.’