Telling Meera · The Quiet Exam · Pulse Beat
He went to the bookshop on the Thursday with a bag of sweets and a heart that would not be still. She was behind the counter, on the stool, reading, the cat in her lap. She looked up, and saw his…
He went to the bookshop on the Thursday with a bag of sweets and a heart that would not be still.
She was behind the counter, on the stool, reading, the cat in her lap. She looked up, and saw his face, and said, "Oh."
"Bangalore."
"Dev!" She was off the stool, the cat protesting, and then they were standing in the narrow aisle between the poetry and the travel, and she had her arms round his neck. He was aware of her hair against his cheek, of the faint smell of paper and chai, of his own heart.
"You'll go," she said, into his shoulder. "You'll go and you'll be wonderful."
"Come with me," he blurted out. It was not what he had planned to say. "I mean. Not to the college. To Bangalore. There are bookshops there. There are..." He ran out of words.
She stepped back, and looked at him with an expression he had never seen. It was a serious, steady, slightly frightened look, like someone standing at the edge of a swimming pool. "I've had an offer too," she said. "Mr Fernandes is retiring. He's asked me to take the shop."
They stood looking at each other, the two of them, in the afternoon light, in the smell of old paper.