Read Online THE ONE YOU CANNOT HAVE by Preeti Shenoy - Free Book Online
Authors: Preeti Shenoy
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sorry, okay?’ I apologise further.
Yet he is quiet.
So I am silent till we reach home. In the elevator, I try to hold his hand but he pulls it away. There is nothing left for me to do except follow him meekly.
It is only after we enter our apartment and he closes the door behind him, that he speaks.
And what he says sends a chill down my spine and tautness in the pit of my stomach.
‘Who the fuck is Aman?’ he asks as he looks at me accusingly.
A million thoughts run through my mind. How does he know about Aman? Why is he asking this now? I haven’t had any contact with Aman for the last two years. Heck, I don’t even know where he is. Who has told Rishabh about Aman? And why is he angry?
Rishabh is looking at me accusingly now. He is waiting for answers.
And I have no idea what to say.
Chapte r 8
Aman
The first thing I feel as soon as I see her picture is utter shock and a strange sense of disbelief. I stare at the picture that has popped up with her name. She has changed her name. She calls herself Shruti Prasad now. I stare for a few more seconds to see if my slightly drunken mind is making a mistake. It isn’t. It is her all right. She has cut her hair short now. Very short. When I used to know her, she had long tresses. I loved burying my face in her hair. It was straight and silky and the memories pelt me like a sudden downpour. I remember the familiar smell of her hair—she always smelt so good. I loved running my fingers through her hair. But now it is so short, almost like a boy’s. She is looking into the camera and smiling. She seems happy and carefree.
And he is there right next to her, with his arms around her. In the exact same pose of my treasured picture with her which she had stuck in the scrapbook she made for me.
It rips me apart. Shreds my heart to bits. It is as though someone has smashed my face with a large mallet. The pain mingled with a sinking feeling now spreads all over me. It is hard to bear. So darn hard. And here I was, thinking I had got over her. She has obviously moved on. It is only me, the sentimental fool, who is still holding on to the book she made for me, and it is only me who is still mooning around for her. I feel like the biggest idiot in the world to have wasted the last two hours looking her up.
What did you expect? For her to be single and looking for you?
I do not know what I expected, but I certainly did not expect to feel like this. And what I did not expect is this sudden rush of emptiness and excruciating agony that hit on seeing her picture.
I want to scream and shout. I want to yell at her. And yet I do not want to feel this way. I want to be free of her. I want to move on. I have to.
I call up Mark and ask him what he is up to.
‘We’re going to be at Jamo’s tonight. Want to join in?’ he asks.
I accept without a moment’s hesitation. I ask him if he can pick me up and he says he is happy to. I think Mark senses my loneliness. Whatever it is, I sure am glad to be getting out. Sitting alone and thinking of her is becoming unbearable. I need distraction and I need it big time.
Jamo’s, a bar and nightclub with a dance floor and some electrifying music, is spread over two floors, and is one of the nicer places in Norwich to have a ‘wild night’. They mostly play hip-hop and R&B both of which I do not particularly enjoy, but I don’t care. I just want to forget.
Andy who is our colleague also joins in and tonight it seems like almost all the best-looking Norwich girls have made their way to Jamo’s. We are a little early and manage to get seating—a low leather couch not too far from the bar or the dance floor. It is a nice place to sit—and we can get a great view of the dancers from here. I down three tequilas straightaway.
Three hours later, I am too drunk to care. I feel happy and light. Mark has worked his charm and a group of three girls have joined us now. It is funny how we have ‘paired off’. We can hardly
Yet he is quiet.
So I am silent till we reach home. In the elevator, I try to hold his hand but he pulls it away. There is nothing left for me to do except follow him meekly.
It is only after we enter our apartment and he closes the door behind him, that he speaks.
And what he says sends a chill down my spine and tautness in the pit of my stomach.
‘Who the fuck is Aman?’ he asks as he looks at me accusingly.
A million thoughts run through my mind. How does he know about Aman? Why is he asking this now? I haven’t had any contact with Aman for the last two years. Heck, I don’t even know where he is. Who has told Rishabh about Aman? And why is he angry?
Rishabh is looking at me accusingly now. He is waiting for answers.
And I have no idea what to say.
Chapte r 8
Aman
The first thing I feel as soon as I see her picture is utter shock and a strange sense of disbelief. I stare at the picture that has popped up with her name. She has changed her name. She calls herself Shruti Prasad now. I stare for a few more seconds to see if my slightly drunken mind is making a mistake. It isn’t. It is her all right. She has cut her hair short now. Very short. When I used to know her, she had long tresses. I loved burying my face in her hair. It was straight and silky and the memories pelt me like a sudden downpour. I remember the familiar smell of her hair—she always smelt so good. I loved running my fingers through her hair. But now it is so short, almost like a boy’s. She is looking into the camera and smiling. She seems happy and carefree.
And he is there right next to her, with his arms around her. In the exact same pose of my treasured picture with her which she had stuck in the scrapbook she made for me.
It rips me apart. Shreds my heart to bits. It is as though someone has smashed my face with a large mallet. The pain mingled with a sinking feeling now spreads all over me. It is hard to bear. So darn hard. And here I was, thinking I had got over her. She has obviously moved on. It is only me, the sentimental fool, who is still holding on to the book she made for me, and it is only me who is still mooning around for her. I feel like the biggest idiot in the world to have wasted the last two hours looking her up.
What did you expect? For her to be single and looking for you?
I do not know what I expected, but I certainly did not expect to feel like this. And what I did not expect is this sudden rush of emptiness and excruciating agony that hit on seeing her picture.
I want to scream and shout. I want to yell at her. And yet I do not want to feel this way. I want to be free of her. I want to move on. I have to.
I call up Mark and ask him what he is up to.
‘We’re going to be at Jamo’s tonight. Want to join in?’ he asks.
I accept without a moment’s hesitation. I ask him if he can pick me up and he says he is happy to. I think Mark senses my loneliness. Whatever it is, I sure am glad to be getting out. Sitting alone and thinking of her is becoming unbearable. I need distraction and I need it big time.
Jamo’s, a bar and nightclub with a dance floor and some electrifying music, is spread over two floors, and is one of the nicer places in Norwich to have a ‘wild night’. They mostly play hip-hop and R&B both of which I do not particularly enjoy, but I don’t care. I just want to forget.
Andy who is our colleague also joins in and tonight it seems like almost all the best-looking Norwich girls have made their way to Jamo’s. We are a little early and manage to get seating—a low leather couch not too far from the bar or the dance floor. It is a nice place to sit—and we can get a great view of the dancers from here. I down three tequilas straightaway.
Three hours later, I am too drunk to care. I feel happy and light. Mark has worked his charm and a group of three girls have joined us now. It is funny how we have ‘paired off’. We can hardly
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