The Girl of My Dreams

by Durjoy Datta

  ‘What about my life? You destroyed it!’ exclaimed Avni. ‘What do I have left now?’

  ‘Just pull your socks up and find something to occupy yourself with. Go, find a job.’

  ‘Help me,’ said Avni.

  Shreyasi laughed. ‘I don’t owe anything to you.’

  ‘I loved the same guy you do. And I lost everything because of it. I shouldn’t have loved him,’ cried Avni.

  ‘I accept that.’

  ‘The way he treated me today. He told me he loved me and yet had me banging on the door. He asked me to fuck off while all I wanted was for him to talk to me. He might have fallen out of love but what he did today . . .’ her voice trailed off in sobs.

  ‘I don’t blame—’

  ‘How would you feel if he did the same to you?’

  ‘He wouldn’t. He loves me,’ said Shreyasi.

  Avni wiped her tears. She looked away from Shreyasi and started looking out of the window.

  After a while, Avni said, ‘I love you. That’s what he told me as well. He’s a writer. That’s what he does. He lies.’

  Shreyasi didn’t respond.

  Avni mumbled to herself, ‘Everything I thought about him was an illusion. I lost everything because of him and because of you. What was my fault? I was just an ordinary girl who dared to love. Was that so wrong? Did I deserve this? Did I deserve what the two of you did to me? Why did you ruin my life?’

  Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. Avni didn’t say anything for the rest of the car ride.

  Just as she got down from the car and walked towards the hotel, Shreyasi called out to her.

  ‘Avni?’

  Avni turned. She said, ‘I’m sorry about today. I won’t contact—’

  ‘I can help you but on one condition,’ said Shreyasi.

  ‘. . .’

  ‘You’re never to talk to Daman again.’

  43

  Daman woke up with a jolt from his nightmare, sweating and panting, and shouting Shreyasi’s name. He found Shreyasi sitting on the chair, peering into her laptop.

  ‘Nightmare?’

  ‘The craziest one ever. I saw you burn to death and with that goes my sleep for a week. Why don’t these dreams stop? Anyway, when did you get here?’ asked Daman, trying to catch his breath.

  ‘I missed you.’

  Shreyasi closed the flap of the laptop and got him a bottle of water.

  ‘Here. Drink.’

  ‘I got your messages. All thirty-four of them. They were lovely,’ she said.

  Poor him, thought Shreyasi and stroked his hair as he drank hungrily. This was the best part of her day—coming home to him after office, and finding him waiting for her. On most evenings he would be awake and excited to see her. He would run to her, take her in his arms and tell her how much he missed her. He would order in, decide with TV show to watch that day, and even buy expensive wine for her. Sometimes, he would read out the parts from his favourite books while he played with her hair. He would obsess and plan every detail of every evening they spent together.

  He made a date out of every time they saw each other. It was as if he was cataloguing their entire relationship. And every evening when it would be time for her to go to Akash and be a wife to him, his eyes would tear up. My baby might have forgotten how to write but he still knows how to love. This was exactly how she had envisioned her relationship. She and a boy, Daman, who would be obsessed with her, whose life would start and end with her, who would need no one but her.

  ‘It’s been an hour. You were sleeping so I didn’t want to wake you up. I wrapped up a little work in the meanwhile,’ she said and ran her hand over his face. ‘I saw that you’ve starting writing again.’

  ‘Did you read it?’

  ‘I did,’ she said, trying to hide any emotion.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  Shreyasi answered after a pause. ‘Baby . . . I don’t want to lie but I think you can do much better. Like it’s good but it’s not . . . you. You’re way better than this. I think you—’

  ‘It sucks, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  Daman laughed. ‘Chill, Shreyasi. I know it’s shit. Thank you for not mincing words and being straight with me,’ he said and he shook his head disappointedly. ‘I just can’t seem to get it right.

  Every time I sit down to write, Jayanti’s words start ricocheting inside my head.’

  ‘You need to concentrate harder, baby.’

  ‘How easily we get used to certain things, don’t we? Like the expectation that anyone would publish me. And now . . .’

  ‘I’m sorry. You know—’

  ‘I know, I know. You had to do it. I have heard it all before. You wanted me and I needed to know how much you love me. I get that and respect that. But still . . . as much as you are a part of me, writing was a part of me too. I can’t do without it,’ said Daman.

  ‘But the article you wrote for that website got 3000 views in a week,’ argued Shreyasi.

  ‘Who cares about the views? I didn’t enjoy writing it. It was an opinion piece. Anyone with a laptop can write it. It was . . . for the money.’

  Daman saw Shreyasi’s face lose colour. ‘I’m sorry, Shreyasi,’ he said and put his head on her lap. ‘I don’t want you to feel bad or guilty about it. You mean everything to me. But I can’t stop thinking about . . . anyway, I will try not to talk about it, okay?’

  ‘Things will work out. It all works out in the end, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It does,’ said Daman and smiled. ‘Hey? Do you want to go out? There’s this new pastry place in Punjabi Bagh—’

  ‘I need to be home in a bit.’

  ‘When don’t you have to be home? Every time—’

  ‘Daman.’

  ‘Fine, I won’t talk about it,’ scoffed Daman. ‘You can go home to your beloved husband while I stay here rotting, writing my shitty book and thinking about you,’ said Daman.

  ‘You’re such an asshole,’ said Shreyasi and smiled.

  ‘That I am and it seems I have plenty of time to be one now,’ he said.

  ‘I will find you a publisher.’

  ‘Fingers crossed,’ said Daman. ‘Okay, screw that. Do you want to watch the new Game of

  Thrones episode?’

  ‘I’ve watched it already.’

  ‘That’s not fair!’ protested Daman. ‘I was waiting to see it with you.’

  ‘I don’t mind seeing it again,’ she said and hugged him. ‘I will watch all six seasons with you if you want me to.’

  They watched the episode together and once it ended, it was already time for Shreyasi to go.

  She called herself a cab. Daman insisted on dropping her home again.

  ‘Are you buying a car with the insurance money?’ Shreyasi asked.

  ‘I don’t think I’m ever driving one. The dreams . . .’

  ‘Are they still as frequent?’

  Daman nodded. ‘There’s a saving grace though. I see your face sitting right beside me in the car.

  The ending is always scary. You die and I survive.’

  ‘Hmm . . .’

  ‘I wonder why I see that?’

  ‘Maybe you’re too scared to lose me?’ she said, nervously fidgeting with her house keys.

  ‘I’m scared to lose you,’ said Daman and held her hand. ‘But you know what? There’s something else that’s new in the dreams.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘You remember I told you how the accident happens? A taxi coming from the wrong way?’

  ‘Yes, I do. What about it?’

  ‘Ummm . . . nothing,’ said Daman. ‘It’s stupid.’

  ‘Tell me?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ insisted Daman.

  ‘Daman? We decided not to hide anything from each other. Especially about these dreams and that accident, baby. You know it affects you. Tell me what you saw,’ said Shreyasi.

  ‘Hmmmm. The driver in the taxi?’

  ‘What about him?’ Shreya
si asked.

  ‘Earlier I could just see him. But then I peered closely.’

  ‘Peered closely in your dreams?’ asked Shreyasi, smirking.

  ‘Do you want to listen or not?’ snapped Daman. ‘That’s why I wasn’t telling you. Maybe I shouldn’t.’

  ‘I was just kidding, baby. So you looked closely at the driver? What did you see?’

  ‘In the back seat of the taxi, there was a girl.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, a girl. At first I couldn’t see her. All I could see was her hand tapping on the taxi driver’s shoulders, asking him perhaps to drive quicker. I can’t be sure. I’m guessing because the driver looked panicked,’ said Daman. ‘But then slowly, a face emerged. A fair girl with flowing black hair. The face has become clearer over the past few days.’

  ‘Who’s she?’

  ‘Ummm.’

  ‘Daman? Who’s she?’

  ‘It’s you, Shreyasi. You’re sitting behind that driver,’ said Daman and turned to look at her.

  ‘What? What nonsense? Am I not sitting right beside you in the car? Didn’t you just say I die in the crash?’ she asked.

  Daman chortled. ‘Yes, but you also survive. When I’m strapped to the stretcher and taken away I come to consciousness for a second. I see a girl emerge from the wreckage of the taxi. It’s you.’

  ‘That . . . that makes no sense.’

  Daman laughed. ‘Of course it makes no sense. That’s why I wasn’t telling you!’

  ‘Right,’ murmured Shreyasi.

  Daman stared back at her and asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘But wouldn’t that be crazy? If there were two Shreyasi’s? How awesome would that be? Your husband can keep one and I can keep the other.’

  ‘I wouldn’t share you with anyone!’

  ‘These dreams have no meaning any more. Next thing I know I will see your face in the taxi’s driving seat! I just need to keep myself busy to stop my brain from going on these stupid tangents.

  Now that even Avni has suddenly stopped calling me, I have way too much time on my hands. Do you know she got that job at Barclays she had always wanted?’

  ‘Oh, really?’ said Shreyasi.

  ‘I told you no one minds these viral videos after a week, let alone a month or two,’ said Daman.

  ‘True,’ said Shreyasi.

  ‘I’m glad for her. It seems like I am the only one who’s unemployed and dreaming stupid dreams.’

  It had started to rain outside.

  ‘You’re right. You need to keep busy. You need to stop these stupid dreams,’ mumbled Shreyasi.

  ‘Write the book, Daman, a good one. We will see how we get it published.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Have you tried those sleeping pills the doctor prescribed you?’

  ‘No,’ Daman said. ‘Are you planning to keep me drugged to keep me from seeing these dreams?’

  Shreyasi smiled nervously.

  44

  Shreyasi had been waiting at Daman’s apartment for four hours when Daman stumbled through the doorway. Shreyasi ran to him as he slumped on the ground. His eyes rolled over. He stank of piss and vomit.

  ‘Daman?’ said Shreyasi. ‘What happened to you?’

  Daman mumbled something illegible. His lips were split and he seemed to have bled all over his shirt. His knuckles were bruised and he had a black eye. He passed out. Shreyasi called for a taxi and took him to a nursing home nearby. They took care of his bruises, declared that he had a broken nose and a possible concussion. She hadn’t been able to elicit any answers from Daman on how it had happened. Daman was still in surgery when Shreyasi received a text from Sumit asking her to rein in her boyfriend.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Shreyasi as she called Sumit.

  ‘Didn’t Daman tell you?’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘About us?’

  ‘What about us?’

  ‘About me and Avni. I’m dating her. He came to us drunk out of his wits and threatened us. We don’t want any trouble. You have got what you wanted and now just leave us alone.’

  ‘Did you hit him?’

  ‘The bouncers did. He wouldn’t go away from our table.’

  ‘What was he doing there?’

  ‘You should ask him. He tried to drag Avni out of the restaurant. He dumped her. Now whoever she dates is none of his business. He threatened Avni he would release the video if she didn’t dump me.’

  ‘He didn’t do—’

  ‘Ask him. He will tell you. I request you, Shreyasi. Please stay out of our lives,’ said Sumit. ‘I have to go now.’

  He disconnected the call.

  They discharged Daman the next morning. When they reached home, Shreyasi asked Daman if he remembered what he did last night.

  ‘I bumped into Sumit. He said something about you and I hit him. Things went out of hand. It’s nothing you should worry about,’ explained Daman.

  ‘He called me. He told me you got into a fight with him over Avni.’

  ‘Why would I fight over her?’ asked Daman, not meeting Shreyasi’s eyes.

  He’s lying. ‘Tell me the truth, Daman. Did you or did you not embarrass me in front of your ex- girlfriend and best friend?’

  Daman rolled his eyes and scoffed. ‘He’s dating her. Out of all the people they could have dated, they are dating each other. I see what they are doing. They want to spoil what we have, they want to make us jealous and angry—’

  ‘It’s working. You seem to be jealous and angry,’ said Shreyasi.

  ‘I’m just furious because I thought they were my friends. Instead they are fucking each other.’

  ‘I need to go home. I was in the nursing home the entire night,’ said Shreyasi and got up.

  Just as she was leaving, Daman held her hand.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m sorry. Please don’t go home,’ said Daman and hugged her. Before she knew it, Daman had started to sob in her arms. ‘I need you, I need you. I love you so much. I feel so lonely without you.’

  Shreyasi made Daman sit on the bed and quietened him down. She held his face and kissed him, she told him it was okay as long as he still loved her. He promised he would never do it again. He swore he wouldn’t call or text both of them. When Shreyasi insisted, he vowed that he would try to cut down on his alcohol.

  He had been drinking too much and his dependency on sleeping pills was getting precarious; the cost of keeping those dreams at bay was proving too much for him and for her. He hadn’t written a single word in days now. There were mails from online journals that wanted him to write but even those mails lay unattended to for days. He would spend his days curled up inside the blanket, unbathed and unshaved, watching TV shows the entire day, texting Shreyasi all day, telling her he missed her, and waiting for her to come home. Their evening dates had gone for a toss; they would sit and he would mope around for a couple of hours before it would be time for her to leave.

  Sometimes, he would land up at her office during lunch hour, dressed only in his pyjamas, see her for twenty minutes and wait four hours in the reception for her to finish off at work. Shreyasi had started to feel sorry for him.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be writing?’ asked Shreyasi, steeling up.

  Daman brushed it aside as if he wasn’t ever a writer. ‘I can’t think of anything. I’m thinking of taking CAT exams next year, get myself a proper job, like yours. Anyway, I have you now. Why would I want to write?’

  He tried hugging her. Shreyasi wrested free.

  ‘You shouldn’t throw your talent away.’

  ‘I fell in love with you and I wrote about it. There’s no talent required there,’ he scoffed.

  ‘That will be the last time you said that. I don’t want to see you till the time I read a few chapters from you,’ said Shreyasi while leaving his house.

  ‘Write chapters, how?’

  ‘It will happen, Daman. You need to be patient. Just write the book. The next time I see you I want you to have writte
n something.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘We are not arguing on this, Daman. What are you if not a writer?’

  ‘I thought I loved—’

  He hadn’t even completed the sentence and Shreyasi had already left his apartment.

  45

  For the next two weeks, Daman grovelled and pleaded with Shreyasi to see him, to talk to him but she held out. He would reach her office early in the morning and not leave till late evening. He would keep asking the receptionist to call her. After the first two days he had spent outside

  Shreyasi’s office, the security didn’t let him inside the office building complex. Yet, he didn’t give up.

  Let me talk to you, he begged.

  Not until I read a few chapters, Shreyasi answered. It pained Shreyasi to treat him like this but she saw no other way. She was deeply conflicted. Daman was finally in the grasp of her palm but it wasn’t the Daman she had grown to love in the past three years. He had always been this curious boy who would try to tell stories and, failing, try again; he had to go back to that. She wanted him to do what he was best at again. And yet it was easier said than done. Even after the security had banned him inside the building, he started to wait outside the gate, peering into taxis that would leave the building. He would run after Shreyasi’s cab. Shreyasi would cry and yet ask the driver to keep driving on. She would see him panting, hands on his knees, crying, shouting her name, begging her to stop.

  Write the book, she would text him.

  I can’t, I need to see you, I love you, he would text her back. For the next couple of days,

  Daman went off the grid, locked in his room, typing. But on the third, he reached Shreyasi’s house.

  He called her from the guard’s room on the intercom.

  ‘Meet me for ten minutes. Please, I promise I will go. I just need to see you. I’m writing, trust me.’

  Shreyasi saw him from the window. She could have let him come up but if she allowed him in once he would take her for granted and keep coming.

  ‘My husband is here,’ she said.

  ‘Then come down. Just for a minute.’