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was like bell-bottom pants. Her name was Shagufta Ahmed. It meant bouquet of flowers. I had made the mistake of telling Osama and he asked me how I knew.
    “She told me,” I said.
    “Huh? Just like that?”
    “No, I asked her one day.”
    After that he started calling her my Romantic Customer.
    Okay, yes, I liked her. I just didn’t want to discuss it with that asshole Osama.
    She usually came in the afternoons, when no one was around. Initially she used to stay for twenty minutes or so. After I asked her the meaning of her name, she began staying longer. Sometimes she would leave the door of the booth ajar and I could see her e-mails—cute dogs, pictures of giants that once walked the earth, religious e-mails about the ninety-nine names of Allah. It was obvious she left the booth open so I could see her and she could feel me seeing her. Because one day she glanced back when I was watching her and instead of closing the door, she smiled and said, “What are you looking at?”
    I was embarrassed, so I just laughed and said, “Oh, I was just lost in thought, sorry.”
    She said, “What thought is so deep, Suryaji, that you got lost in it?”
    I swear, I almost said something, but just then Haider bhai parked his scooter outside the shop and I pretended to drop my phone and cursed. If he’d seen me talking to her, I didn’t think that would have worked somehow.
    There was something about her presence in the cybercafé that made me feel peaceful. Dark afternoons, just the two of us and the sleepy sound of the fan whirring. We could be in a flat of our own almost.
    I never opened or checked Shagufta’s windows. You could say I was a fool. But whatever I got from the door sometimes left ajar was enough. It’s not that the desire didn’t overcome me at times. But the waiting and imagining gave time a reason. I knew her e-mail address: [email protected]. I had written her a love letter. It sat in my Drafts folder. I had quoted couplets of Urdu poetry by some guy called Shakeel Badayuni. I was going to send it once it was properly done.
    That day of the raid, Osama could have left the moment Shagufta walked in, but instead the fucker sat down in a booth.
    I began to hear Shagufta typing furiously. At some point she emitted a little laugh inside her booth. I smiled to myself. I didn’t notice Haider bhai until he was already off his scooter.
    I hissed at Osama who quickly got up and went out.
    Haider bhai came and looked around. “All well?”
    “Yes, bhai.”
    Shaghufta greeted him.
    “Nice to see you working hard, beta,” he said. “Your father must be proud. Give him my salaams.”
    “I will, uncle.” She smiled.
    “Very good girl,” he said to me. Then he looked around once more. “Surya, why are the monitors on if no one is using them? Electricity is free or what?”
    “Sorry, bhai. Osama was using it.”
    “Arrey, how many times have I said he should not sit around here?”
    “He doesn’t listen, bhai.” I saw no need to remind Haider bhai about the raid and make excuses for Osama.
    “That boy is very nonserious,” Haider bhai said on his way out.
    I went to switch off Osama’s terminal and saw that his chat window was open. His ID was Ghulfam88, of all the sidey things he could come up with.
Ghulfam88: Can I say smthng? With yr permission?
    Shaghufta_91: Okie.
    Ghulfam88: I really love talking 2 u. I keep thnkng, when I see Shgfta I’ll tell her this. Thoughts of U are stuck in my mind like gum.
    Shaghufta_91: I also wait for you to cm online.
    Ghulfam88: Wd you like 2 meet in real?
    Shaghufta_91: Dnt be silly. I dnt knw.
    Ghulfam88: Ok. Sorry if I said too much. You wnt me 2 go?
    Shaghufta_91: U go if u wnt Ghulfam88: You know I dnt want to stp tokking 2 u ever.
    Shaghufta_91: U der?
    Shaghufta_91: Hey, RU thr?
    Shaghufta_91: Can’t say bye also or what?
    I’d read enough loser chats in my time to know not to click on the button called Chat History . It wasn’t a very long