Fiction: Rohit’s attempts at romance are derailed as political tensions sweep across his university
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Karan drove me home since we both lived in the University Enclave: the same place where I had spent the best years of my life after moving to Delhi to study for university. As I sat in his car and watched the city through the windows, I remembered how I had marvelled at those neem trees and those red brick buildings when I first arrived in the city as an undergraduate, and how much I now missed those happy, carefree days. I wasn’t unhappy now. Yes, Dhruv refused to date me, and I had spent the last several months loving him from across a border I didn’t have the passport to cross. Still, I had spent the past few weeks going to a therapist, trying to be comfortable in my skin, and now, accepting Dhruv’s rejection. I wasn’t prepared for such intense pain. I was writing poems. Bad poems. And I had never written poems about anything – not even a flower.
The happiness of my undergraduate days was a different kind of joy; a sort of joy that came with the ability to ignore responsibilities, a sort of pleasure that you felt because you didn’t have to give yourself an A...