In the morning I hear my phone alert me to a text. I pop open one eye. Wow. A dull throbbing ache pulses between my ears. Yikes. How many drinks did Tapan and I have last night? And didn’t I vow not to feel like this? Again?
Through the fog of last night I blink, blink, blink my eyes. My contacts have fused to my eyes. First there were margaritas at Café Frieda. Then we went to a wine bar. I remember sitting in a quaint corner to the left. Only one chair at the bar, and Tapan insisted I sit. So I did (you don't have to tell me twice in 3" heels). Someone must have realized we were on a date so they up their seat for Tapan.
I flip open the phone, squint and read the text from Tapan, “Desi Girl, Had a fun time last night. Hope to meet up again soon. Did you reach home ok? Hope the train was fine that late at night. Tapan."
Oh, shoot, I think, as the night slowly comes back to me. We had two rounds of red wine. And I begin to remember him talking about his company and how he travels a lot for work. And he must have walked me to the subway station. How else would he know I A trained it home? Did we kiss? Hug? Why can’t I remember? And more importantly I better not tell Rohit and Meera that I rode the subway that late, again. It was not the safest decision, yet, it is one I perpetrate over and over again like a crime I cannot stop committing.
Text from Tapan: p.s. let me know about your computer. Maybe one of my tech guys can help you.
Clearly I told Tapan about my life as dirty Internet virus girl. Slowly I begin to remember Tapan mentioning that he has some really great IT guys in his company's tech department who he was certain could help me. Could Tapan be the smart, sensible man --- the leader of the desi engineers --- I have been looking for? I better pen a text immediately … ooo, after I pop some Tylenol to kill this headache.