It was getting late and her patience was wearing thin by the second.
He did not appear quite ready to say goodbye.
I saw them from a distance, deep in conversation on their bikes, engines on, idling, and it evoked so many summer romances that I’ve read about, seen on such roads, quiet, peaceful, deserted, perfect for a tête-à-tête away from the prying eyes of the world.
Since he had come all the way, out of his way to see her off up to this point, she felt eager that he return soon, safe, without getting lost on unfamiliar roads of this part of the city. It was getting really late. What will mother say? Oblivious to what he was saying, she cut in, with a notch of anxiety in her voice,
‘Aapko yahan se raata pata hai na?’
(You know the way out from here, don’t you?)
Despair cloaked itself in a sharp voiced caustic remark as I passed them, and he replied, revving up the engine,
‘Yeh jaa rahi hain, inko lift de deta hoon, raasta bhi yehi bata dengi’
(I’ll offer a lift to this woman passing by, she’ll show me the way as well)
Before she could say a goodbye or a good night, off he was, and she still stood there, watching as his bike became a mere red dot speeding away from her on the dark road opposite.
With a sigh, she turned her bike away and slowly moved towards her home.