The Girl I Last Loved by Smita Kaushik Page A

through. Like always, I was a very good listener until I realised the lift wasn’t moving.
    “You might want to press the button.”
    Kasam looked at me and then pressed seven and there was silence except for my suppressed giggles.
    “I will catch you up. Go ahead.”
    “Okay,” I answered.
    I hadn’t settled already that I heard banging on the door. As I turned back, it was Kasam. She was trying to pull the door – the door over which ‘push’ was written in bold.
    I indicated to her to stop and then push it. She gave me a broad smile and pushed the door with both her palms.
    We walked to a corner table. I signalled to Kasam to settle down. I unbuttoned my coat, removed my cell phones from my pocket and took a seat, placing one Blackberry Bold and one iPhone 4 on the table.
    Just then a waitress arrived. I asked her to take the order from Kasam; however, she kept on questioning me while Kasam kept on mocking from behind.
    When we were done, the same waitress again arrived to place the bill.
    I uttered, “Bill is for me while the feedback form is for the lady.”
    I quickly snatched the bill. The waitress showered me with constant turning back and smiling while passing away.
    “How do you do that?” Kasam uttered, while jumping two stairs at a time.
    “What?” I was surprised.
    “Acting so cheesy… in a flirty kind of manner!?”
    “No, I don’t,” I acted defensive.
    “Yeah? Opening the car gate… kneeling by the wall... flashing your mobiles on the table – are all a little cocky,” she flinched her eyes.
    “They are normal.”
    “Okay, then smiling at the waitress… brushing your hair while placing the order to display your Rolex? Didn’t all that get the poor girl into you,” she snapped.
    ‘Probably, I did behave a little cheesy, I reflected though nobody except Kasam was able to mention that transition. Still whether it was a good thing or a bad thing, that was something I would reflect upon later.
    “Anyways, who uses the term ‘lady’ these days?” she looked into my eyes and winked.
    It started drizzling when I drove back to her home. She was humming softly. It was pure melody even though I wasn’t able to distinguish the words.
    I waved her goodbye, yet stayed there – looking at her – watching her leave. Just then she turned, “Akash, don’t you want to catch up on our lives after we last met in Lucknow eight years ago?” My smile had no boundaries.
    “I know we just had coffee, but would you like another one,” she added.
    I jumped out of my car.
    “Yeah, I went on to do company secretaryship in Mumbai and then I went to California for MBA. Now I work in Adcom Multimedia… wow!” my tongue slipped as I entered her home.
    “I didn’t know Prayas is paying this well.”
    “Yeah, Prayas pays real well but still, this is sponsored by my father. At least money is a thing which my parents never felt short of to shower on me.”
    I bowed my head down.
    “Anyways I will make some coffee, meanwhile ‘feel at home’.”
    It was beautiful. A small cottage with broad windows… money plants hanging from the edges… small crotons resting in the corner… low-lying tasteful furniture… rare collection of bells and wind-chimes scattered all over the place. Bright sunny yellow walls with purple linings… so many photographs hanging from the wall telling a story…
    And there was Kasam’s room. Stick notes all over her cupboard… a radio resting at the bedside… bangles and jhumkas scattered at her study table… dressing table… corner table… She was never very organised, be it her dressing, her décor, her choices, her life. She never abided by the rules.
    A collage captured my attention from the other side of the room. I was wrong, it wasn’t a collage; it was her life. Some of the Smiley badges she no longer sported.
    Few earrings pasted with the help of cello-tapes – she might have lost one in the pair.
    Stickers from the events she might have organised in college;