Meera · The Quiet Exam · Pulse Beat
She wrote to him in August, a postcard of a lighthouse. Dev. Do you remember the train? I'm in Pune too. I'm working at a bookshop in Camp, which pays nothing, and I've read forty books. My mother is…
She wrote to him in August, a postcard of a lighthouse.
Dev. Do you remember the train? I'm in Pune too. I'm working at a bookshop in Camp, which pays nothing, and I've read forty books. My mother is better. I haven't told my father I've stopped studying. Do you want to come and buy something? M.
It was a tiny shop on a side street, between a chemist and a shoemaker, with a bell on the door and a ginger cat asleep on a pile of paperbacks. Meera was behind the counter in her green kurta, reading. She looked up and her whole face changed.
"You came."
"I bought a book," said Dev. It was The Left Hand of Darkness.
"You've already read it."
"I'm going to read it again." He put it on the counter. "I'd like to see if I get something different."
They sat on two stools in the back room, over cups of strong tea, and talked for three hours. About the books. About her mother. About the long strange feeling of having no plan, which she described as standing at the edge of a swimming pool in November. At the end, as he left, she said, "Come on Thursdays. It's quiet then."