World's Best Girlfriend by Durjoy Datta

Author:Durjoy Datta [Datta, Durjoy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789357082181
Publisher: Penguin Random House India Private Limited
Published: 2023-10-07T18:30:00+00:00

15.

Aanchal Madan

I can’t concentrate for the rest of the evening. My mind flits between two realities.

One in which Daksh calls me and confesses that he’s thinking of me. He tells me of the accident, of his family being torn apart, of him being crushed by an avalanche of grief. And then him finding succour in talking to me. Of him finding a shoulder to lean on in me.

And then there’s the realistic version of what could have happened. What really could have happened.

Vicky—who has always been logged into my Gmail, LinkedIn, and has all my passwords, controls who I follow and who I don’t, whose pictures I can like, whose I can’t—would have read his message. He would have grilled me and my parents about him. He would have gripped my arm until I had bruises.

How could I explain why a guy from Dubai was sending me a message that read, ‘Do you remember me? We ate ice cream together in the Andamans. Had coconut water on the beach.’ He would have raised his hand and then stopped and said, ‘Had it been anyone else, he would have hit you.’ But the gentle and generous Vicky doesn’t hit me. When he’s angry, he punishes me in other ways. When we are alone, he doesn’t kiss me. He just thrusts his dick into my mouth. He holds me by my head, pulls at my hair and comes in my mouth. He likes to pretend that I like it too. Then he watches YouTube videos while I gargle. At other times, when he can’t get hard because of all the hate he carries for me, he grips me tightly, spits and slaps me lightly as if it’s all part of the sexual act when I know it’s not. But I’m glad he doesn’t kiss me that often. Because that’s what I hate the most.

Jagath and Zeenath start to yawn as the night progresses. When they get up to leave, they look at me. They want me to leave as well.

‘I have nothing to do,’ I tell Daksh. ‘I can stay for a bit.’

‘Thank god someone’s excited about my birthday,’ says Daksh brightly.

Zeenath sniggers. ‘Your birthday is over. It’s past twelve.’

Jagath and Zeenath leave, knowing that I won’t budge. When they are gone, I put the gift I got for him on the table.

‘You didn’t have to do this,’ he says. Then he winks and adds, ‘But I’m glad you did it because gifts are the best part.’

He unwraps the gift. It’s a Nintendo, the same model Gaurav flicked from him. He starts to laugh.

‘So it’s not really a gift then, just returning me my stuff,’ he chuckles, cradling it in his hands, pushing the buttons. He looks straight up at me. ‘Thank you. I love it.’

‘You don’t play any more, do you?’

‘How does that matter? You thought and gave me something meaningful. Now every time I look at this, it will remind me of our story. That’s what gifts are. Remembrances of what we share with someone.

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