The Girl in Room 105

Six  months  ago.  Stop,  my  bait,  stop.  Sorob  said,  snatching  away  my  whiskey  glass.  I  am  not  drunk,  I  said.  We  were  in  a  corner  of  the  drawing  room  near  the  makeshift  bar  the  rest  of  the  coaching  class  faculty  had  gathered  around  Aurora  sir.

They  would  never  miss  a  chance  to  suck  up  to  him.  We  had  come  to  the  Malvia  Nagar  house  of  Chandan  Aurora,  owner  of  Chandan  classes  and  our  boss.  You  swore  on  me  you  wouldn't  have  more  than  two  drinks,  Sorob  said.  I  smiled  at  him,  but  did  I  quantify  the  size  of  the  drinks?  How  much  whiskey  per  drink?

Half  a  bottle.  My  words  slurred.  I  was  finding  it  hard  to  balance  myself.  You  need  fresh  air.  Let's  go  to  the  balcony,  Sorov  said.

I  need  fresh  whiskey,  I  said.  Sorov  dragged  me  to  the  balcony  by  my  arm.  When  had  this  fat  so  become  so  strong?  It  is  freezing  here,  I  said,  shivering.  I  rubbed  my  hands  together  to  keep  myself  warm.

You  can't  drink  so  much,  Bay.  It's  New  Year's  Eve.  You  know  what  that  does  to  me?  It's  history.  Four  years  ago.

It's  going  to  be  2018.  Feels  like  4  seconds  ago,  I  said.  I  took  out  a  cigarette  packet  which  Sorov  promptly  grabbed  and  hid  in  his  pocket.  I  pulled  out  my  phone.  I  opened  the  contact  details  of  my  next  intoxicant  Zara.

What  did  she  say  that  night?  I  said,  staring  at  Zara's.  WhatsApp  profile  picture?  We  are  done,  that's  what  she  said.  What  did  she  mean  done?

How  can  she  say  we?  I  am  not  done.  How  can  she  say  we?  I  am  not  done.  Leave  the  phone  alone,  PA.

You  may  accidentally  call  her,  Sorof  said.  He  lunged  from  my  phone.  I  dodged  to  avoid  him.  Look  at  her,  I  said,  turning  the  screen  towards  Sorov.  She  had  put  up  a  selfie  as  her  burp  outing.

Hand  on  waist,  the  black  sorry.  A  dramatic  contrast  to  her  fair,  almost  pink  face.  She  didn't  always  have  her  picture  as  her  dupee.  Often  she  would  put  up  quotes  the  let  life  not  hold  you  back  kinds  statements  that  sound  profound  but  actually  mean  nothing.  Her  WhatsApp  display  picture  was  the  only  connect  I  had  left  with  her.

It  was  how  I  knew  what  was  happening  in  her  life.  Who  wears  black?  Saras.  She  doesn't  look  that  great,  Soraf  said.  He  always  did  his  best  to  help  me  get  over  her.

I  love  Sorof.  My  best  friend,  colleague  and  fellow  my  best  friend,  colleague  and  fellow  misfit.  He's  from  Jaipur,  not  far  from  my  hometown.  Of  AlLWAR  his  father  works  as  a  junior  engineer  in  the  pew.  Like  me,  he  too  didn't  get  placed  after  campus.

Both  of  us  worked  our  asses  off  at  Chandan  classes.  Off  at  chandan  classes.  Even  as  we  hoped  to  get  out  of  there  ASAP.  It's  Zara.  She  always  looks  great,  I  put  it  plainly.

Soraf  shrugged.  That's  part  of  the  tragedy.  You  think  I  am  mad  about  her  because  of  her  looks?  I  think  you  should  shut  your  phone.  More  than  three  years,  dude.

Three  crazy,  crazy  years.  I  know.  By,  if  you  promise  not  to  drink  anymore,  we  can  go  back  in.  It  is  cold  here.  What  do  you  know?

That  you  dated  Zara  for  three  years.  Want  dinner?  Screw  dinner.  More  than  three.  Three  years,  two  months  and  three  weeks,  to  be  precise.

You  told  me.  Rendezvous  2010  to  New  Year's.  Eve  2014.  Yes,  rendezvous.  That's  when  we  met.

Did  I  tell  you  how  we  met?  I  said  my  feet  were  finding  it  harder  to  find  the  floor.  Sore  of  held  me  tight  to  prevent  me  from  falling.  Yeah,  you  have  told  me  50  times.  Sore  muttered.

There  was  a  debating  competition.  She  was  in  the  finals.  Baha,  you  have  told  this  story  a  zillion  times.  He  said  I  didn't  care.  He  could  hear  it  a  zillion  times  plus  one.