Page 39 - Till the Last Breath . . .

Kajal looked at the open grounds of Delhi Technological University and felt

disconnected. Two years had passed since she had started studying
electronics engineering and felt more disillusioned with every day that
passed. She wasn’t meant for Schrödinger equations and Fourier

transforms, like many others studying with her. While many had resigned
themselves to their fate as engineers for life, Kajal still believed she would

be something more. At least she hoped. People with money can always do
that—hope, change careers, do crazy expensive things, and call themselves

travellers after buying travel packages to posh European countries and
staying in beautiful resorts. Though Kajal had never been that type; she was

just directionless.
Her latest direction was to turn to writing. She had always been a
voracious reader. From Sweet Valley High, the Hardy Boys, Enid Blyton

when she was young, to David Baldacci, Dan Brown, Nicholas Sparks
when she got older, to the heavier works of authors like Mohsin Hamid and

V.S. Naipaul, she had read it all. She picked out a corner in the library and
started to read from the page she had folded the day before. It was the latest

book by Nicholas Sparks. Like every other girl, she had spent countless
nights crying to his books, even though she steadfastly maintained that she

wasn’t into romance novels and that she had never been a fan of Indian
authors and their amateurish love stories set in engineering colleges.
‘Hi,’ she heard a voice from behind her.

She turned around to see the guy who had been following her around
college for the last few days, standing just over her shoulder. Her first

feeling was of revulsion. His hair was tousled carelessly, his clothes looked
like he hadn’t changed in days and his four-day beard just looked annoying.

He wasn’t that tall; maybe 5’10” or 5’11” or even taller, she couldn’t tell
because he was well-built for his frame. She imagined an Indian Vin Diesel.

Not her type; she liked leaner men. Like Edward Norton. Like Imran Khan.
Maybe a little darker.
‘Yes?’

‘Do you mind if I sit there?’ he asked, and pointed to the seat next to
Kajal.