The photo he had shown me was of a group of people. She was just an uncertain figure hiding at the right edge. She had turned her face away at the moment that the photo was taken, so all the camera got was her long hair and a side profile. But her beauty had been apparent in his voice when he spoke of her. ‘She’s got this long hair that falls absolutely straight. She never ties it up. And her eyes . . . yaar . . . so gentle. You can fall right into them.’

Her hair falls straight, except when the wake of passing cars ripples it away from her face. Her face is tiny and heart-shaped. I cannot see her eyes from across the road. But I want to.

I stare at her through the curtain of traffic that roars between us. Aman jerks me into action. ‘Hurry! You’ll lose her,’ he says insistently in my ear.

I hurry after her. My heart is thumping. I stick my hands in the pockets of my jeans to stop them trembling. Just the thought of going up to a girl and talking to her does that to me. I’m a loser in the girl department. Can’t be helped. I haven’t had much practice.

For three days, I’ve been standing outside the gate of the fancy college that Aman used to go to. He had pointed her out to me the first day. All I ever got was a glimpse of a girl in jeans and a kurta who slipped out of an expensive car and hurried into the college, head down. Same thing when it was time to go home. Three days of waiting, and that was all. But this morning, that changes. She hurries through the gate after the car drops her off. But after it drives away, she comes back out hesitantly. And I finally see the girl who had been described to me in poetry.

She gets an auto. I manage to grab an auto too. When I tell the driver to follow her, he has a lot to say. Smart-ass, like all Mumbai rickshaw drivers are. ‘Pyaar vyaar ka chakkar hai?’ I ignore him.

‘You’ll end up in trouble,’ he prophesies. ‘All women and love are trouble.’

She stops the auto at a large mall. I have to crane my neck to look up at it. Biggest damn thing I’ve ever seen. A huge facade of glass in which my shabby self stands reflected, gaping like a fool.

I hurry through the entrance after her. The security guards stop me and do a cursory pat-down. I could tell them that I am carrying everything I possess in the world. And it isn’t much.

The shops in the mall are still in the process of opening. Shutters clatter, an automatic sweeper wheezes around the floor. The mall is three storeys high, with escalators stretching their long necks like mechanical giraffes between floors. Fancy names glitter in chrome and crystal and neon from the entryways. It’s one of those premium places where you can buy anything, from diamond jewellery to home theatre systems, and everything else in between.

She doesn’t seem to be interested in any of the shops, walking past them without looking and heading straight to an escalator.

‘Give her the letter,’ says Aman. ‘You promised you’d do that for me. Go on.’

I had made him that promise. And I have come such a long distance to keep it. And I mean to, even though my heart jolts when she turns her head and I see her for the first time. God. She is beautiful.

‘I can’t get close to her.’

‘Oh, come on. You haven’t come all this way to give up now. You owe me this. Remember?’

I remember all right. I owe him this. I watched him write the letter in the light of a lamp. Thinking over every word. Knowing these might be the last words she ever heard from him. I watched him fold it carefully. His love letter lies warm against my heart. I can’t help but wish it were mine.

I follow her around the mall. She goes in and out of shops, then wanders into a large department store and walks through the various sections. I trail behind her, trying to be unobtrusive. The salesgirls keep a nervous eye on me, this shabby, unkempt boy wandering around their pristine fancy displays. I can see them watching my hands, dreading that I will reach out and touch something.

We go through the make-up section, and the place where they keep ladies’ kurtas, dresses, T-shirts. At the handbags section I finally summon up enough courage.

I edge closer to her, trying to work up the nerve to tap her on the shoulder, to actually touch her.

This is it. I’m actually going to talk to a girl. I clear my throat.

She doesn’t notice. She has turned and is walking rapidly away. I follow, holding on to the courage I have mustered. She pushes through a door, and I grit my teeth and almost follow, when I read the sign on it—‘Ladies’. I stop dead, all my momentum draining out of me.

She is in there a long time. Long enough for me to worry. Long enough for me to wonder if something is wrong, if I should push open the door and check. When the door finally slams open, I am unprepared, and she steps out straight into my stare.

She looks at me, and her eyes are red, as if she has been crying. Then, before I can say a word, she turns and hurries away. I hurry after her, but she is almost running.

At the top of the escalator, she abruptly turns and confronts me. ‘Who are you? Why are you following me?’

I fumble for an answer. Before I can say a word, she shouts, ‘Guard! Security! This man is harassing me!’

There is a security guard nearby who turns at her call. Then he seems to fold and falls gently to the ground, at our feet. There is a sharp chatter of sound at the entrance. I know that sound. It’s three quick bursts from an AK-47. She is standing there, staring at the guard in shock. I don’t stop to think. I fling myself on her.

One moment too scared to lay a finger on her, the next minute my arms and legs and body are entangled with hers. She turns a frightened and furious face to me, and I cover her mouth before she can scream. ‘Please. I’m sorry. Just lie still!’ I beg. And the world descends into chaos.

A group of men run into the mall. They have guns. People begin screaming. Guns begin firing.

I lie there, heart thundering, adrenaline rushing through me, brain screaming that I should get out of there. I don’t dare move.

I am aware of everything all at once. She is soft and startlingly warm. A lemony scent wafts from her hair. Her skin smells of flowers. The curve of her ear is brown and pink and almost touches my lips. Her bangles are sharp stripes against my arm. I’ll tell you this—it’s strange and awkward to be lying on her, but I don’t want to move. She is frozen in shock, eyes wide and fixed on me. I see the understanding come into them that I am not attacking her. She has recognized the sounds at last.

One me is lost. Another me is coldly watching and calculating everything else. I listen intently, sorting out sounds from the crescendo of panic. Five men. Three automatics. One handgun.

The mall security guys don’t wait. They’re out of the door, shoving customers out of their way. The gunmen run through the mall, searching for exits, securing them. Their guns spit non-stop. Sometimes as a warning, sometimes meaning business.

I watch an old man fall to the ground. His blood pools and meanders in slow streams across the floor towards the entrance. A screaming woman slips in it and falls. She scrabbles hysterically in the blood for a second, before she gets back on her feet and runs. Others are scrambling for the doors as well. Then two gunmen head to the entrance and begin stopping them.

It’s all over in about ten minutes. A gunman stops beside us. She clutches me and closes her eyes. I cover as much of her as I can. If there are going to be bullets, I might as well take them. No one is going to notice I’m gone.

‘What, saale?’ says the man, kicking me in the thigh. ‘Protecting your girl? Being a bloody hero? Get up!’

His gun is cold against my temple. I get up. I have to take her hand and pull her up. She is trembling and icy-cold. Her hand slips out of mine. I wish I could keep holding it. She stumbles on to the escalator ahead of me. I look around for Aman.

When the shooting is over, we’re part of a group of hostages huddled miserably in the middle of the foyer. Aman is gone.

Kabir