Dipa went into her room, lit the night light and stood by the window for a while. The air was very still and the summer night stiflingly hot. Dipa switched on the fan, took off her blouse and went to bed. There was no telling when sleep would come, but there was little else to do other than go to bed at the appointed time. As she lay there, Debashish’s words echoed in her head: ‘Dipa, you may not love me, but I have fallen in love with you.’

Debashish had switched on the bedside lamp as he lay in bed reading a scientific journal. He had taken off his shirt and the fan was whirring overhead at full speed. He could barely concentrate on the book. His thoughts wafted away like so much hot air. Even splashing cold water on his head had done nothing to afford him a measure of relief. Half an hour later, he put the book aside and switched off the light, as if the bright light were to blame for heating up the room.

Debashish lay there in the dark with his eyes closed. Despite the fan above, the bed felt as hot as a griddle. He tossed and turned, but his head felt hot and heavy as it lay on the pillow. His brain was heating up at the same time, but in a more insidious way. Finally, in the depths of the night, his anguish burst forth with the pent-up force of a volcano. Debashish sat up in bed and cursed under his breath, ‘Goddamn it, she’s my wife!’

He got a grip on himself and sat silently in the dark for some time. Then he stepped out of the room. As he put on the light in the drawing room, the clicking of the switch seemed to suggest that the room had been startled awake from its reverie. Debashish too was a bit startled by the sudden onslaught of bright lights. After a pause, he went and stood in front of the closed door of Dipa’s room.

He could not make out if the door was merely shut, or locked from inside. Perhaps a gentle push would open it. Dipa must be asleep. Debashish stood there for a while, then raised his hand to knock. He could not possibly enter Dipa’s room unbidden while she slept. But he couldn’t even bring himself to knock. He let his hand fall to his side. ‘Coward!’ he cursed himself as he went back to his room.

Dipa had been lying awake all this while, but she remained oblivious to what had transpired.

Two months had gone by since Debashish and Dipa’s wedding. We are moving back after a long foray into the past to the moment where we began: The day Dipa had refused Debashish’s invitation to take her to the movies.

Debashish paused on his way to Nripati’s. He was in a terrible mood and the thought of going to Nripati’s and engaging in light banter, the prospect of listening to Probal playing the piano, soured his mood still further. It was a long time since he’d done any serious reading, but in his line of work, it was important to keep abreast of the latest information about developments in the field of cosmetology and chemical research. He subscribed to a few foreign scientific journals, but in the last couple of months, he had not even got around to unwrapping them. Debashish headed back home. He wouldn’t squander his time in chatting and jesting. He would spend this evening reading, like he used to in the old days.

Dipa reclined in a chair with her eyes shut. The radio was playing. When Debashish returned, she turned off the radio and stood up, her eyes full of anxious inquiry.

Debashish tried to keep his tone light as he explained, ‘I decided to come back. It’s been quite a while since I did any reading. I thought I should catch up with it this evening.’

The foreign magazines had piled up beneath the stool kept by the telephone. Debashish gathered them up and went to his room. There he arranged the magazines chronologically, propped himself up on a few pillows and began to read.

From the window of her own room, Dipa watched the twilight of summer making way for the hovering dusk. Padmalochan was watering the plants in the garden. Dipa hadn’t been to the garden at all that day. In the evening, her mind had been in turmoil after she had refused to go to the movies with Debashish and had watched him walk away with a crestfallen expression. With the passage of time, her life was becoming so complicated that she felt she would never be able to untangle the knots. A new problem had cropped up in her mind and there was no solution to it.

It was dark outside. Padmalochan finished his job and went home. Dipa moved away from the window and went to Debashish’s room. The lights had been switched on. Debashish was lying back against the pillows on his bed, engrossed in his journals. Dipa paused on the threshold for a while before entering the room but Debashish didn’t notice her. She walked right up to his bed. Debashish looked up at her in surprise.

‘Would you like some tea?’ she asked him.

Debashish smiled. Dipa was trying to make amends for the way she had behaved with him that evening. ‘I’d like some,’ he replied, ‘if you’ll have some too.’

‘I’ll be right back,’ she said before darting off like a deer. Debashish stared after her for a few seconds, then went back to his reading.

Dipa went to the kitchen and found Nakul preparing dinner. ‘Nakul,’ she told him, ‘step aside, please. I’d like to make some tea.’

‘Tea?’ Nakul replied, ‘Does Dada want some? But why should you trouble yourself, Boudi? I’ll make it for you and take it up.’

‘No, I’d like to