Moyurakhkhi's Cigarettes

39| Wine

On the last day of my exams, Arsh was outside the school again. He'd been there all morning. He said he wouldn't leave until I spoke to him.

"Talk to me. How are things?"

"I am not talking to you!"

"Please, Moyu."

"I told you not to call me that."

"I understand that you hate me. You have every reason to. But I'm sorry okay? Will you please help me out?"

I let out a mock laugh. "You have some nerve, you asshole. You- you never cared about me. You dumped me in front of a hundred people. And you still think I'll come running every time you need a favour? Do you think I'm fucking stupid?"

"There's no need to call names. What difference is there between you and me, anyway? We both know you don't really like your boyfriend. You're just with him to have a good time."

"How do you even know about my boyfriend, you creep?"

He leaned against his car dramatically. "Let's just say that I got eyes.

"I don't have time for this," I seethed. "Leave. Me. Alone. If I ever see your face near me again, you have no idea what I'll do."

He snorted. "Yes, I'm sure."

"You are so lucky that I never took my revenge, Arsh. You have no clue," I said. I started walking across the road. He followed me.

"Look, you're making a mistake. I know the people on your interview board. They will believe whatever I tell them," he growled, staring me down.

I have to tell you, being a little taller would've made this much easier for me.

I glared up at him. "Do you want me to spill all your deep dirty secrets to the world? I'll tell them everything. I'll tell the gossip columnists that you've been stalking me like a psychopath. That you are such a loser that your uncle gave his money to me instead of you."

He scoffed. "Listen, cut the crap. I know you. You won't do it. You're too much of a good girl."

The nerve! I wanted to tear his head apart like a fucking papaya. Dick. Shala bainchod.

I gritted my teeth. "Try and threaten me all you want. Make me your villain. But remember, this villain's sword is made of truth. I will burn down your entire fucking kingdom of lies," I spat at him, and walked away.

When I calmed down on the way home, I noted down that thing about the sword of truth and the kingdom of lies.

You know, in case I ever wrote a fantasy novel.

Speaking of novels...Mihran Sir surprised me with a meeting with Sadia Khan that week. You know, Sadia Khan, editor of only the biggest English newspaper in the country. Her company had practically revolutionised the Bangladeshi publishing industry. 

I sat opposite her in MS' drawing room, tongue-tied. I could not believe that Sadia Khan was considering my book for publication. Even though I suspected that she'd done it because she had a crush on MS. Oh wait, therapist says I shouldn't doubt myself. But she was about his age and was currently single.

"Miss Moyurakhkhi, I really can't believe that you wrote this book," she said, tucking away stray grey hair into her hijab.

I gaped at her. "I did,

"No, really. At just 18, your concept of character and plot is amazing. Not to mention, the language used is beautiful, yet doesn't fail to be articulate."

I gulped and tried to smile. "Well, you know, I had great guidance."

MS shook his head. "No, no. Sadia, make no mistake. Moyurakhkhi Ahmed wrote this book entirely on her own capability. She carried out her own research and studied extensively on writing. I just directed her to the resources, nothing more. She was a prodigy long before she became my prodigy."

Sadia's wine-red lips curved upwards with a smile. "Well, Moyurakhkhi, you should be immensely proud. I hope you are. Keep your chin high, young lady."

I hadn't even realised that I was staring at the ground. "Thank you. So, uh, have you like, decided what you want to do? With my book?"

Sadia took a swig of her coffee and got up, offering me a hand. I took it unsurely.

"Moyurakhkhi," she said, smiling warmly, "it would be an honour to represent your book. Welcome aboard."

I'm telling you, my good friend, the entire world was in the palms of my hands. Shining, shimmering. Safe.

I owned it.

-

May 1st, Day 336 of 365

I paced restlessly in the corridor outside the conference room where my interviewers sat. Fizz was inside, the third candidate after Dhrubo and Nusaiba.

And I was next.

I breathed in for four seconds, held in the air for seven and slowly exhaled it over eight seconds, a trick to trigger your vagus nerve to relax your body. I'd been repeating the movements for the past two hours. And sipping water so frequently since last night that I went to the bathroom five times already this morning.

I splayed my hands out to the sunshine slanting in through the white grills. The warmth on my skin rooted me in the spot and helped me focus. The nauseous feeling faded away.

With a creak, the door behind me swung open. Fizz came out, face pale as a Victorian Era boy. I grasped her hand.

"How was it?"

She let me take her weight, as if too tired to hold herself up, and cracked a dry smile. "Cholbe," she said. "It'll do."

She sat down next to Sahal on the bench.

The VP now held the door open, beckoning me to come in. She patted my shoulder, perhaps seeing the anxiousness printed in my tensed muscles.

I turned back one last time.

"Best of luck," Sahal mouthed. The smile on his face was warm, like that honeysuckle sun. It soothed me.

Five people were perched in their pedestal before me behind a long mahogany desk. In my head, I pictured them wearing black robes and wigs, honoring the woman in the centre with a polished wooden gavel.

My heart thrummed against my ribcage. Its sound was drowned by the woman with the imaginary gavel clearing her throat.

"Miss...Moyurakhkhi Ahmed, how do you do?"

I took a deep breath. 

And I let it go.

-