"This is insane . Absolutely insane ," Saurabh kept muttering, his teeth chattering as he sat behind me on my bike.
"Ready?" I asked, fastening my helmet.
"It's freezing," he said.
"Zip up your jacket."
"It's late. We're completely drunk. Why do we need to go now?"
"It's Zara, man. She invited me. On her birthday."
"Meet her in the morning. I'm sleepy, man." He rested his head against my back.
I kick-started the Enfield. The bike's vibrations jolted him awake.
"You're not even a student anymore. How do you plan to get into campus?" Saurabh asked, his voice humming with the engine.
"I still have my old student ID."
We exited my house and sped down the Outer Ring Road toward the IIT main gate—a ten-minute ride.
"Slower, man," Saurabh said, gripping my shoulders tightly. "My stomach's not feeling great."
"Don't throw up on me, okay? Just tell me if I need to stop."
"Slow down anyway. There might be cops."
He had a point. We were so loaded with whisky that any breathalyzer would probably explode.
We saw a police checkpoint about two hundred meters before the IIT main gate. A cop signaled for us to slow down.
"We're screwed," Saurabh muttered.
"Wait," I said, reducing speed as if complying. I came to a gentle stop just short of the officer but kept the engine running. As two other policemen started walking toward us, I shifted into first gear and took off. I heard the cops shout behind us.
"What the hell was that?" Saurabh yelled, looking back. "They have a bike. They'll chase us."
"Take out my ID. It's in my jacket pocket. Quick."
As Saurabh fumbled with my old student ID, I reached the main gate.
"Keshav Rajpurohit, Kumaon hostel," I said confidently, like I had so many times before. I kept my helmet on.
"ID?" the security guard asked.
Saurabh flashed the card and cleverly hid the expiration date with his finger. Amazing how the brain, even drunk, knows how to protect itself when dealing with authority.
The guard let us in.
I rode fast inside the campus toward the academic area and then turned off the road leading to Himadri Hostel.
"Are the cops still following?" I asked.
Saurabh looked back. "No, they've stopped at the gate."
"They never come inside IIT," I said, grinning.
The cops were used to students riding around late at night. They usually let it slide.
"This is still a terrible idea. Now they have your bike number."
"They won't care."
"How do you plan to get into Himadri?"
"Same way I always did. The mango tree."
"Seriously? You're not a student anymore. This isn't just breaking hostel rules—you could end up in jail."
"Relax."
I parked the bike about fifty meters from Himadri. The girls' hostel had 24/7 security, and a patrol jeep made hourly rounds to check on the guard. The mango tree behind the building was the only way in.
Room 105 was on the first floor, tucked away at the corner. Zara had been staying there since joining as a PhD student five years ago. The room had a large window with a mango tree just outside.
When Zara joined IIT, that particular room had conveniently become vacant. We used to call it "our little home." That's where we met most often.
I never took Zara to my hostel. Forget the rules—no girls allowed—I also knew how deprived the guys were of female company. Bringing Zara in would've been like rubbing salt in their wounds.
Of course, I wasn't allowed in Himadri either. But if you were agile enough, the mango tree served more than just its fruit. At least once a week, I'd climb it and sneak into her room. I'd always leave before sunrise. No one ever found out.
That system worked perfectly—until we broke up.
Saurabh and I crept toward the back of Himadri. I took off my jacket.
"So this is how you used to—" Saurabh began.
"Shh... keep it down."
"Which one's her room?"
I pointed.
"What if you fall?"
"I've done this a dozen times."
"With whisky in your system?"
"I'm fine," I said, warming up by twisting my torso. I grabbed the trunk, lifted a leg to the first branch, and began climbing. The motions were muscle memory by now. I looked down at Saurabh.
"Wait here. If anyone comes, cough."
"How would that help?"
"Good point. Okay, distract them. Make up something."
"What? What's a coaching class tutor doing near the girls' hostel at 3:15 a.m.?"
"I don't know," I said, brushing leaves from my face.
"You haven't thought this through, man."
"It's fine. No one will come."
I climbed higher.
"Big problem," I muttered.
Saurabh's face tensed. "What?"
"I didn't bring a gift."
"That's the problem?"
"I'm meeting her after years. On her birthday. With nothing."
"Send her an online voucher later. Just finish this already."
"No gift, no cake... damn," I mumbled as I reached the window. It was slightly open—just like she used to leave it.
I swung one leg over the windowsill, holding the frame as I pulled myself inside.
"Happy birthday to you," I sang softly, closing the window behind me. I tiptoed into the dark room. Only the hum of a heater responded.
"Happy birthday, dear Zara," I whispered, now near her bed.
She was the one who had invited me. But I couldn't just slip into bed and hug her like old times. We weren't together anymore.
Still, she had said she missed me...
I switched on my phone flashlight. The beam lit the room. Zara was fast asleep under her white quilt with little pink flowers.
"Zara," I whispered. "It's me, Keshav. I'm here."
She didn't stir. I found the lamp switch and turned it on. The dim light revealed her face, almost completely covered by the quilt.
"Hey, birthday girl," I said. "I came to wish you."
No reaction.
Nice acting, I thought.
Her iPhone lay charging on a pile of notes. Johnson's Baby Lotion sat beside it, like always. She loved that stuff.
"Hey, Johnson's baby... wake up," I said, gently shaking her shoulder over the quilt.
Nothing.
Was she drunk too? Were those tipsy texts what led her to call me here?
Or was she just pretending, waiting for me to slide into bed?
Another part of me said: Go for it. Cuddle her. Kiss her forehead.
But I held back. Let her decide.
Still, she needed to wake up.
I shook her harder. Still no response. I pulled the quilt down from her face.
She was completely still.
"Okay, Zara, enough," I said. "I came to wish you in person."
Still nothing.
"Are you going to wake up?" I asked, my tone rising.
I touched her shoulder—ice cold.
My heart skipped a beat.
I pulled the quilt further. Red marks around her neck.
"Zara, baby?" I said, checking her forehead, cheeks, ears. All cold.
"Wake up," I said to no one in particular.
I switched on the main light. A harsh white glow filled the room. Zara lay there—motionless.
"Zara," I said louder. I placed my fingers under her nose. Nothing.
I tried feeling her pulse the way I'd seen in movies. Lifted her cold wrist.
No pulse.
Tried again.
Still nothing.