2 Chapter 1

'Half-girlfriend,

'

'What?'

He shrugged.

'Listen, have you eaten anything all day?'I said.

He shook Iris head. I looked around. A bowl of fruit and some

chocolates sat next to my bed. He took a piece of, dark chocolate when

I offered it.

'So what do you want from me?'I said.

'I want you to read these journals, whatever is readable...because I

can't.'

I looked at him, surprised.

'You can't read? As in, you can't read in general? Or you can't read

these?

'These.'

'Why not?'I said, reaching for a chocolate myself.

'Because Riya's dead.'

My hand froze in mid-air.You cannot pick up a chocolate when

someone has just mentioned a death.

'Did you just say the girl who wrote these journals is dead?'

He nodded. I took a few deep breaths and wondered what to say

next.

'Why are they in such terrible shape?'I said after a pause.

'They are old. Her ex-landlord found them after years.'

'Sorry, Mr Whats-your-name. Can I order some food first?'I

picked up the phone in the room and ordered two club sandwiches

from the limited midnight menu.

'I'm Madhav. Madhav Jha. I live in Dumraon, eighty kilometres

from here.'

'What do you do?'

'I run a school there,

'

'Oh, that's...'I paused, searching for the right word.

'...noble? Not really. It's my mother's school.'

'I was going to say that's unusual.You speak English. Not typical of someone who runs a school in the back of beyond.'

'My English is still bad. I have a Bihari accent,' he said, without a

trace of self-consciousness,

'French people have a French accent when they speak English,'

'My English wasn't even English until..,' he trailed off and fell silent. I

saw him swallow to keep his composure.

'Until?'

He absently stroked the notebooks on the desk.

'Nothing. Actually, I went to St. Stephen's.'

'In Delhi?'

'Yes. English types call it "Steven's".'

I smiled. 'And you are not one of the English types?'

'Not at all.'

The doorbell startled us.The waiter shifted the journals to put the

sandwich tray on the table. A few sheets fell to the floor.

'Careful!' Madhav shouted, as if the waiter had broken some

antique crystal.

The waiter apologized and scooted out of the room.

I offered Madhav the club sandwich, which had a tomato, cheese

and lettuce filling. He ignored me and rearranged the loose sheets of

paper.

'Are you okay? Please eat.'

He nodded, His eyes still on the pages of the journal. I decided to

eat, since my imposed guest didn't seem to care for my hospitality.

'These journals obviously mean a lot to you. But why have you

brought them here?'

'For you to read. Maybe they will be useful to you.'

'How will they be useful to me?' I said, my voice firmer with the

food inside me. A part of me wanted him out of my room as soon as possible.

'She used to like your books. We used to read them together,' he

said in a soft voice.'For me to learn English.'

'Madhav,' I said, as calmly as possible, 'this seems like a sensitive

matter. 1 don't want to get involved. Okay?'

His gaze remained directed at the floor.'I don't want the journals

either,' he said after a while.

'That is for you to decide.'

'It's too painful for me,' he said.

'I can imagine.'

He stood up, presumably to leave, He had not touched his sandwich

—which was okay, because I could eat it after he left.

'Thank you for your time. Sorry to have disturbed you.'

'It's okay,' I said.