Five years ago, I became aware of a new person in the neighbouring department thanks to his constant splutter of profanities. His baggy clothes and cigarette addiction added to the eeks-quotient and consolidated my resolve never to talk to him.

But that day I had to, when his apologies flowed as fluidly as his choicest expressions. I (then, 10 kilos lighter) was walking into the office, a friend from his department, popped from nowhere saying “Hey, you know Pratik thinks you are hot.” His sheepish face stopped my nasty glances, instead I heard myself saying yes to a coffee.

Many inconsequential weeks had passed. While slogging on a night shift, you turn to any half-decent person when your boyfriend calls off wedding. I turned to Pratik, even as he tried to make sense of his keyboard. His frail body, neatly folded, often sat in one corner of the office staircase (smoker’s paradise) stunned into silence by unceasing sobs.

I questioning why this happened to me, and he just listened. This necessitated long walks after work and an enormous show of patience by him. It also provided fodder to rumour mills till I repeated my mistake and fell in love again. This hardly affected our friendship. We kept meeting though not as much, in spite of him finding new girls to give him company over coffee.

When I moved to Mumbai, he was revelling in the feast of films his Pune’s FTII course offered. So the I-miss-yous came much later. I grappled with a new city, he with a new job. Calls became infrequent. Then one day he landed in Mumbai, with a new job and a girlfriend. They took over my bedroom. Soon he found a house and moved out. Days later, the girl moved out too, of his life. Instead Jorge Luis Borges made an entry.

Something in the Argentinine poet words touched a chord with the Kolkata-pining and homemade-food-longing Pratik’s heart. After being the forced audience of one of his poetry reading sessions, I found the sozzled man singing a different tune. Was it the effect of Borges, liquor or my now-volputous look-I was never to know. Next morning the sheepish look was back, followed by “I meant what I said”.

As I took time to decide, he waited-showing his patience all over again. Putting bruised and untrusting heart to rest required time.

But I smiled sincerely through the wedding reception.