One Indian Girl by Chetan Bhagat

Pain singed my heart; Kolkata reminded me of Debu. I had told myself to not think of him.
That’s what sucks about love. It takes away your control over your thoughts. Any trigger, anything that
somehow could be connected back to Debu, would spark a fire of memories inside me. I just wanted
my last walk in the city to be peaceful. Alas, no such luck. I approached Brooklyn. I wondered if
Debu would be home already. Or if the tattooed white girl would be waiting for him. One of his
roommates had told Avinash, who then told me, that the girl was a waitress at Chipotle, a Mexican
fast-food chain. I didn’t ask further. I wondered if he loved her so much that he never thought of me.
Or did he miss me?
Focus on the walk, breathe, I told myself. Why doesn’t the brain listen once in a while? Why
can’t it just take in the beautiful view? Isn’t it the brain’s job to figure out a way to avoid pain? So
why is it only generating thoughts that kill me?
I reached the midpoint of the bridge. Tourists took pictures of the panoramic scenery. I took out
my phone to take a last snapshot of New York as well. After I clicked the picture, I opened my
WhatsApp. I don’t know why I did it, but I checked Debu’s profile. He had the same picture as
always, of him posing next to The Lake, in Central Park. He was online. I took a deep breath, typed
‘Hi’ and pressed send.
He read my message but didn’t respond. I didn’t want him to think I was chasing him again. I
typed another message.
‘I am leaving New York.’
You know the most annoying thing in the world? When it says ‘typing.. .’ on WhatsApp but
then the ‘typing.. .’ vanishes. I have a cab waiting. Debu, say what you have to say fast, please, I
said in my head.
‘Good’ came his response. Could he be any meaner? So okay, I had barged into his apartment.
I had even entered his bedroom. Sure, he was mad at me. But did he realize that the person he’d lived
with for two years was leaving the city, the country or even the continent?
‘I meant I am leaving now. On my way to the airport.’
He then did another mean thing you can do on WhatsApp. He sent me a thumbs-up smiley. Who
made that stupid smiley? What the fuck is that thumbs-up supposed to mean?
Like an idiot I continued to send message after message. All in the hope of a scrap of emotion
or validation. This man had the ability to make me feel wretched in seconds.
‘I am moving to Hong Kong.’
‘Great. More money for you, I hope.’
Really? He had to say that? I decided to ignore his snide comment.
‘So I am leaving New York forever,’ I said. I meant, I love you so much, this is what I have to
do to get over you. And I am so lonely and scared, can you please say something nice before I go to
a strange country, I beg you.
He did not respond for a minute. I checked the time. I had to reach the other end soon. I sent
him another message to prompt him to respond.
‘Just wanted to let you know. No chance of me bothering you now, I guess,’ I said. I am
grovelling now. At least say something nice.
‘Thank you for that. This way you can achieve your goals. And I can find someone caring,’ he
said.
That hurt. I gripped my phone tight, to prevent my fingers from typing again. I like to humiliate
myself, but I guess I had to set limits on how much.
No more, I said to myself. I took a deep breath. On an impulse, I tossed my phone into the East