Shaena – Chapter 8

“Life and love are often on the same side of the coin, but sometimes they turn out to be two sides of the same coin. You can flip it and have the other.” The weirdest and the most nonsensical message which I had received on my phone in the last few months. It was from an unknown number, and at first I thought it would be Saeeka. It had been a month now since we first met, after which we met quite regularly. She was doing a project on graphs she said. The aim was to find the shortest path between two points. Once this was done, she would fit it in nanoparticles which would follow its prey using the fastest route possible and collect pictures and send them to her. I would have sarcastically said, “Yeah sure, you would certainly beat Crichton in his writing”, had I not known that she was genuinely serious about it. I knew I was of absolutely no help in this novel idea of hers, but her company kept me happy, and I did not want to lose a chance of being around her.

The same evening I thought it was long time we exchanged numbers. She wrote down her number on my hand; usually she wrote my name, or hers, or any random word on my hand, today was better because it made sense. As we hugged, I tried to remember the number the text had come from, and realized it was not Saeeka. A bolt from the blue. No, it should not be her. I had tried hard, tried desperately to forget Shaena; I broke the hug. Saeeka was not dismayed, we did not expect anything better from each other. She talked of graph theory, glancing through the novel which I carried along, “Eleven Minutes” by Paulo Coelho.
“So you are interested in prostitutes?” she asked mockingly.
“No,” I said, having no clue of answering why I was reading that book.
“You should read Jurassic Park by Crichton”, she said. Why was she always into scientific things, i thought, though Crichton reminded me of comparing her to him.
“Yes, I think I will”, I replied, almost sure I had no intention of reading it.
“Or better, read up the book on Graphs by Peter Brass. May be you could help me then in my project as well.”
“No,” I said firmly.

It would all have been fine, I realised, if I had the brains to see through it. In fact when I finally realised what happened, I was surprised a fool had been made of me so smoothly. And it was all because of that evening of March, when I, having no work to do, went down for a stroll.

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