As we switched off the lights & you drifted to sleep, I retreated to the restroom - the only lit place - and spent good one hour there on the pot, finishing MurakamiтАЩs tiny short story collection titled Desire. I had read three out of the five stories, whereas you had completed one and a half over the past three days of our travel. You wished to complete it before leaving Bengaluru but couldnтАЩt because of weariness from the Kerala journey. I thought it would be an appropriate gift to you before you left for Delhi today morning, however being the sucker for short stories, I didnтАЩt want to give the book unread. ItтАЩs like a chef serving the food untasted, not knowing if itтАЩs worthy of serving.
In the morning, when I gifted you the book, you taunted that I loved it more than you, choosing to spend the night with it instead. I didnтАЩt know what to say, having no guilt whatsoever: reading has been our first love & what brought us close. And then, like in MurakamiтАЩs stories, you said something just right: тАЬThe only infidelity worth pursuing is an affair with a book. If you had given the book without reading it, I would have liked you a little less than before. Now fuck off to sleep.тАЭ
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