half-girlfriend-chetan-bhagat

lived in London and met many Americans there. I know how these
goras think.’
‘How was London?’ I said, barely able to make out her features in
the dying light.
In classic Riya style, she stayed silent.
‘It’s okay. I won’t ask again. Should we go back?’
She nodded. We reached the pier. The plank to the boat felt even
more precarious in the darkness. She held my arm again. I don’t know
if I imagined it, but it felt tighter than earlier. She seemed a litde more
vulnerable. She came across as a little more, if I dare say the word she
hated, needy.
We sat as far away as possible from the other passengers and the
noisy diesel engine.
‘London was nice in parts,’ she said.
I wanted to ask which parts were nice and which parts weren’t, but
I didn’t. The more you ask, the more she clams up, I thought. I looked
at her. She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. I could read her every
expression, even in the darkness.
‘Would you like to hold my hand?’ I said.
‘Why?’ she said.
‘The boat is moving,’ I said. Lame answer. But how else does one
answer such a stupid question?
‘So?’
‘Nothing,’ I said and looked ahead.The whirr of the engine filled
the awkward silence. Halfway through our journey, temple bells began
to ring in the distance. I felt something near my hand. She placed her
fingers on top of mine. I guess men have an antenna about these
things, too.
I didn’t turn towards her. I knew her. If I made eye contact now,
she would withdraw.
‘I am happier here than in London,’ she said. I hadn’t asked her to
compare the two places.
‘When are you coming home?’ I said, still looking ahead but