Love Story? (Part 1)
“Okay shit I can’t find my purse”
A young reporter was still explaining her story idea excitedly when I read the text. She had been going on for sometime now.
Apparently she had acquired some classified documents. And it would mean big things for our magazine. I knew she meant it would be a big break for her. In her future jobs interviews, this moment would be her highlight. Blah. And more blah.
She wildly waved her hands and pointed at different papers. I understood her passion, but at this moment my mind was stuck at the single line text.
I typed out a reply as quickly as possible.
“Check your bag properly”
Hit send. I looked up to see a flicker of annoyance cross the reporter’s face. She paused.
“Oh I am sorry. Please continue,” I said.
She began her monologue once again. I tried to keep up with her, but at this point I had no idea what she was talking about. I was worried about the damsel in distress, stuck in a city 1,000 kilometres away.
My phone beeped again.
No its not here I checked. What do I do???
The punctuation annoyed me. But correcting her right now wouldn’t be the best thing to do, I thought. Meanwhile I could almost feel the vibes of hatred emanating from the reporter standing before me. But bosses are unapologetic.
“Continue,” I said.
“That’s about it, sir. What do you think?” she asked.
Intelligent girl. My inattentiveness couldn’t have been more obvious. She had me cornered.
“Go to Anoushka. Tell her I want her to help you pursue this story,” I said. Only because you caught me at a wrong time, I thought.
Her face instantly lit up. Quickly grabbing all the papers she had spread out on my desk, thanked me and left my cabin in a hurry, perhaps afraid that I would change my mind.
I turned all my attention to my phone, indecisively rubbing over the keys. Should I call her? Was that appropriate?
I almost half a year of our correspondence we had never called each other. Everything was restricted to texts. I decided to stick to tradition and texted her.
“Take a cab. Pay when you get home.”
I waited anxiously for her reply. It usually took her two and half minutes.
“I called Aniket. He’ll pick me up”
A shot of jealousy came unexpectedly. I gulped it down. Be cool, I said to myself.
“Oh that’s good.”
I wondered if she would be able to read my disapproval in those three words. After six months of texting almost all waking hours, we knew each other by the noiseless words. Hundreds of texts were exchanged everyday, from morning to wee hours of the night.
It had been two long decades since I had last felt new love.