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almost envied that cigarette he smoked with such total reverence.
    â€œI see,” she said.
    â€œGlad you understand.” The breeze disturbed his hair and he lifted a hand to tame it.
    To be honest, she didn’t understand. She understood even less the joyful little thump in her chest at watching him do something as simple as rake his fingers through his thick hair.
    She and Prema usually walked together to and from college. However, this afternoon Prema had gone home early with a headache, and Vinita was alone. “What did you want to talk about?” she asked, a little out of breath because she felt an insane urge to stare at him. Stare at his sculpted body.
    His charcoal gray pants were trendily tight and his black shirt hugged his torso like a second skin. His hair was a little long and the sideburns bushy—all part of the latest in campus chic, and a trend started by the latest and hottest Hindi movie idol, Amitabh Bachchan. Even the scowling, angry-hero look was the Amitabh stereotype. The quintessential cigarette was also a fashion statement.
    â€œI never thought I’d catch you alone,” Som said, tossing his unfinished cigarette on the ground and grinding it with the heel of his gleaming, pointy-toed shoes, adding to the hundreds of other butts already littering the footpath. “You’re always with Miss Swami, your bodyguard.”
    â€œPrema Swami’s my friend, not my bodyguard.” Vinita tossed him an icy glare, in spite of the unexpected spurt of pleasure that shot through her at discovering that he had been trying to contact her after all.
    Nevertheless, she started walking at a brisk pace. Her pulse was still scrambling, but at least the shaking was under control. The tears had dried up, too. By the time she reached her house, in about ten minutes, she’d be back to normal. She had to be.
    He started striding beside her, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
    Folks were still staring at them. Young men and women like Som and her, walking beside each other, drew unnecessary attention. Besides, many of the shopkeepers on that street knew her parents and a few were her father’s clients.
    She couldn’t risk being seen with Som, especially outside the college walls. At least on campus, girls and boys could socialize under the pretext of exchanging class notes and discussing homework. Besides, during the past two weeks she had managed to convince herself that Som was not a chap she should fraternize with, for all kinds of reasons. She could write an entire page of reasons.
    â€œI didn’t mean to belittle your friend,” he apologized. “It’s just that I always see you with her—sometimes with a whole group of friends.”
    â€œI prefer not to walk alone. I like walking with a friend.”
    â€œIn that case I’ll walk with you. And we can talk.”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œFriends can talk about anything.”
    â€œBut we’re not friends.” She turned briefly to face him as she repeated what she’d said the other day. “We have nothing in common. Even our mother tongues are different.” At that moment, for some odd reason, she wished she had something in common with him. He was such an interesting man.
    He gave her one of his rare smiles, making her already compromised sense of balance wobble dangerously. “Didn’t I say we could remedy that?”
    â€œYou did?” When had he said that?
    â€œDon’t I get a little credit for making you feel better after what that wild mob did to you?”
    She groaned inwardly. He had certainly kept her from passing out or falling apart by showing up at the right time and distracting her. But it looked like he was going to use that little incident to his advantage. “I’m very grateful for the emotional support and the handkerchief.” She looked at the balled-up piece of fabric in her fist. “I’ll return it after