...~The Girl in Room 105~...

...~ Some Words from Chetan Bhagat~...

Chetan Bhagat is the author of eight bestselling novels, which have sold over twelve million copies and have been translated in over twenty languages worldwide.

The New York Time has called him 'the biggest selling author in India's history'. Time magazine named him as one of the 100 most influential people in the world, and Fast Company USA named him as one of the 100 most creative people in business worldwide.

Many of his books have been adapted into films and were major Bollywood blockbusters. He is also a Filmfare award-winning screenplay writer.

Chetan writes columns in the Times of India and Dainik Bhaskar, which are amongst the most influential and widely read newspapers in the country. He is also one of the country's leading motivational speakers.

Chetan went to college at IIT Delhi and IIM Ahmedabad, after which he worked in investment banking for a decade before quitting his job to become a full-time writer.

...~*To those who never give up......

......And......

......To those who, like me, find it hard to unlove*~...

...~Acknowledgements and A Note to Readers~...

Hi all,

Thank you!

In times of Instagram, Facebook and YouTube, you definitely deserve thanks for picking up a book, and especially for picking up my book!

No book is one person's effort alone. For this one,too, I have many to thank:

My readers, who continue to support and motivate me with their love. It keep me going, makes me come out of my lows, and think up new stories to tell you.

Shinie Antony, my editor, friend, first reader of all my books --- thanks for your invaluable help.

Those who gave valuable feedback on the manuscript. (Alphabetically) Aamir Jaipuri, Anusha Bhagat, Ayesha Raval, Bhaji Bhat, Krushaan Parikh, Mansi Ishaan Shah, Michelle Shetty, Prateek Dhawan and Zitin Dhawan --- thank you for all your help and suggestions.

Mohit Suri, Vikrant Massey, Kashmira Irani, Sankalp Sadanah, Anshul Uppal and Siddharth Atha for their friendship and help in supporting the book

The editors at Westland for all their efforts to make the book better.

To the entire marketing, sales and production teams at Amazon and Westland for working so hard on the book.

To all the online delivery boys and girls who put the book in my readers' hands.

My critics. You help me improve and keep me humble. I am not perfect. Neither am I always right. I will work harder and get better. And those who don't always agree with me, I respect your opinions as well. All I would say is, our differences aside, let's work to make people read more. It's important.

My family --- a pillar of support in my life. My mother Rekha Bhagat, my wife Anusha Bhagat, and children, Shyam and Ishaan.

Thank you all for being there.

We celebrate love. But sometimes, we must unlove too.

With that, it's time to meet the girl in room 105.

On board IndiGo flight 6E766 HYD-DEL

'Faster your seatbelts, please. We are passing through turbulence,' the flight attendant announced.

Eyes shut, I fumbled to find the belt. I couldn't.

'Fasten your seatbelts, sir' the flight attendant personally reminded me. She looked at me like I was one of those dumb passengers who couldn't follow simple instructions.

'Sorry, sorry ', I said. Where was the other end of my belt, anyway? My head hurt from a lack of sleep.

I had spent the whole day in Hyderabad at an education conference and was on the last midnight flight back to Delhi.

Damn, where the hell was my buckle?

'You are sitting on your belt,' the person next to me said.

'Oh, stupid me!' I said, finally clicking my belt shut. My eyes still refused to open.

'Tough flight, isn't it?' he said.

'Tell me about it', I said. 'I need a coffee'.

'No service at the moment --- because of the turbulence,' he said. 'Going for an event?'

'Returning from one,' I said, somewhat surprised. How did he know?

'Sorry, I saw your boarding pass. Chetan Bhagat. The author, right?'

'Right now a zombie.'

He laughed.

'Hi, I am Keshav Rajpurohit.'

An awkward side-by-side handshake followed.

We passed through angry clouds. They didn't like this hand metal object disturbing them. The aircraft ratted like a pebble in a tin. I clutched the armrest, a futile search for stability at thirty-eight thousand feet.

'Nasty, eh?' Keshav said.

I breathed deeply thought my mouth and shook my head. Relax, it's going to be okay, I told myself.

'Isn't it amazing? We are in the big metal box floating in the sky. We have absolutely no control over the weather. A strong gust of wind could rip this plane apart,' he said in a calm voice.

'That's comforting, keshav,' I said.

He laughed again.

Half an hour later, the weather had calmed down. The flight attendants resumed cabin service. I ordered two cups of coffee for myself.

'Would you like one, too?' I said.

'No coffee. Do you have plain milk?' he said to the flight attendant.

'No, sir. Just tea, coffee and soft drinks,' the flight attendant said.

Where did he think he was? A dairy farm? And how old was he? Twelve?

'Tea, then,' he said, 'with extra milk sachets.'

I gulped down my first cup of coffee. I felt like a phone with low battery that had finally met a charger. I rebooted, at least for a few minutes. I noticed the nightsky outside, the stars sprayed across it.

'You look better now', keshav commented.

I turned at an angle to look at him properly.

A handsome face with striking eyes, deep and brown. They looked like they had seen more life that a man his age, which I guessed was around mid-twenties. Even in the dark, his eyeballs gleamed.

'I am addicted to this stuff,' I said, pointing to the cup. 'Not good.'

'Worse things to be addicted to, keshav said.

'Cigarettes? Alcohol?' I said.

'Even worse.'

'Drugs?' I whispered.

'Even worse.'

'Whst?' I said.

'Love.' This time he whispered.

I laughed so hard, coffee spilled out of my nose.

'Deep,' I said and patted the back of his hand on the armrest. 'That's deep, buddy. I guess coffee isn't so bad then.'

He ran a hand thought his hair --- which he wore short, in a military crew - cut ---- and touched the gold stud that glinted in his left ear.

'What do you do for a living, keshav?' i said.

'I teach.'

'Oh, nice. What do you...'

'I am from your college.'

'Really?'

'IIT Delhi. Class of 2013.'

'You just reminded me how old I am,' I said. Both of us laughed.

'Actually, I might have a story for you,' he said.

'Oh no, not again,' I blurted out, and then kicked myself mentally for being so blunt. Exhaustion had made me forget my manners.

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude,' I said.

'It's fine,' he said and rubbed his hands together. 'Wrong of me to presume you would want to listen to it. I'm sure people come up to you all the time.'

'Sometimes they do. But I didn't have to be obnoxious. Sorry.'

'It's okay,' he said. He stared at the seat in front of him.

'I'm tired. Mind if I rest?' I said. He didn't respond.

I shut my eyes. I wanted to sleep, but couldn't. The overdose of caffeine and guilt prevented me from dozing off.

I opened my eyes after twenty minutes. keshav was still staring at the seat in front of him.

'Maybe I can hear your story in short,' I said.

'Don't feel obligated,' he said, still looking in front.

Of course, I feel obligated, dude. Especially if you sulk and don't make eye contact.

'Listen,' I said, 'here's the thing. You said addicted to love. So, it's probably a love story. I am tired of love stories. Really, another Chetan Bhagat love story? Such a cliché now. I want to write something else. Not just about two people pining away. Who does that these days, anyway? Nowadays, people don't fall in love. They swipe left and right...'

'It's not a love story,' he said, interrupting my blabber.

'Really?' I said, one eyebrow up. 'And can you please look at me when you talk?'

He turned to face me.

'It is about an ex-lover. But it is not a love story,' he said.

'Ex-lover? You guys broke up?'

'Yes.'

'Let me guess. She broke up. And you still loved her? Wanted to get back?'

'Yeah,' he said, his lips tight.

'And did you?'

He shook his head.

'I couldn't,' he said.

'Why?'

'Leave it. You don't have to listen to me.'

'I am just asking.'

'I am tired. Mind if I rest?' he said. He leaned back on his seat and down came his eyelids. He actually went off to sleep. Damn, you never do that to a writer. You don't make him take late flights, pump him up with coffee, start telling a story, and the. snooze off at a cliffhanger.

I had to shake him by his shoulder.

'What?' he said, startled.

'What happened between you and her?'

'Who? Me and Zara?'

'Is that her name? Zara? Zara what?'

'Zara Lone,' he said.

'So, tell me what happened.'

keshav started to laugh.

'What?' I said, surprised.

'For that I have to tell you the full story, Chetan.'

'So, tell me. Maybe I will write it too '

'You don't have to. Ad I told you, this is not really a love story. You can always write another cute boy -- cute girl romance. Half or quarter girlfriend types.'

I ignored his sarcasm.

'Just tell me the story. I want to know what happened between you and Zara Lone.' I said.

Six months ago

'Stop, my bhai, stop,' Saurabh said, snatching away my whisky glass.

'I am not drunk,' I said. We were in a corner of the drawing room, near the makeshift bar. The rest of the coaching class faculty had gathered around Arora sir. They would never miss a chance to suck up to him.

We had come to the Malviya Nagar house of Chandan Arora, owner of Chandan Classes, and our boss.

'You swore on me you wouldn't have more than two drinks,' Saurabh said.

I smiled at him.

'But did I quantity the size of the drinks? How much whisky per drink? Half a bottle?' My words slurred. I was finding it hard to balance myself.

'You need fresh air. Let's go to the balcony,' Saurabh said.

'I need fresh whisky,' I said.

Saurabh dragged me to the balcony by my arm. When had this fatso become so strong?

'It is freezing here,' I said, shivering. I rubbed my hands together to keep myself warm.

'You can't drink so much, bhai.'

'It's New Year's Eve. You know what that does to me.'

'It's history. Four years ago. It's going to be 2018.'

'Feels like four seconds ago,' I said.

I took out a cigarette packet, which Saurabh promptly grabbed and hid in the pocket. I pulled out my phone. I opened the contact details of my next intoxicant, Zara.

'What did she say that night?' I said, staring at Zara's WhatsApp profile picture. 'We are done, that's what she said. What did she mean done? How can she say we? I am not done.'

'Leave the phone alone, bhai. You may accidentally call her,' Saurabh said. He lunged for my phone. I dodged to avoid him.

'Look at her,' I said, turning the screen towards Saurabh. She had put up a selfie as her DP ---- pouting, hand on waist, the black sari a dramatic contrast to her fair, almost pink, face.

She didn't always have her picture as her DP. Often, she would put up quotes. The 'let life not hold you back' kinds, statements that sound profound but actually mean nothing.

Her WhatsApp display picture was the only connect I had left with her. It was how I know what was happening in her life.

'Who wears black saris? She doesn't look that great,' Saurabh said. He always did his best to help me get over her. I love Saurabh --- my best friend, colleague, and fellow - misfit in this crazy drive called life. He's from Jaipur, not far from my hometown of Alwar. His father works as a junior engineer in the PWD. Like me, he too didn't get placed after campus. Both of us worked our asses off at Chandan Classes, even as we hoped to go out of there ASAP.

'It's Zara. She always looks great,' I put it plainly.

Saurabh shrugged.

'That's part of the tragedy.'

'You think I am mad about her because of her looks?'

'I think you should shut your phone.'

'More than three years, dude. Three crazy, crazy years.'

'I know, bhai. If you promise not to drink anymore, we can go back in. It is cold here.'

'What do you know?'

'That you dated Zara for three years. Want dinner?'

'Screw dinner. More than three. Three years, two months and three weeks to be precise.'

'You told me. Rendezvous 2010 to New Year's Eve 2014.'

'Yes, Rendezvous. That's when we met. Did I tell you how we met?' I said. My feet were finding it harder to find the floor. Saurabh held me tight to prevent me from falling.

'Yes, you have told me. Fifty times,' Saurabh muttered.

'There was a debating competition. She was in the finals.'

'Bhai, you have told this story a zillion times,' he said. I didn't care. He could hear it a zillion times plus one.