SPIDER'S WEB

My version:

She is shivering, and the raindrops are shining on her forehead.

'I didn't think the rain would be so heavy and the winds so cold.' Her voice speaks of both the wetness of the rain and the chill of the winds on her body. I am looking at her silently. She is putting her fingers in the pocket of her jeans. She has taken out a packet of cigarettes.

The cigarette stuck between her thin lips, then there was smoke that spread around her soft, wet face.

Source

"You don't like me smoking cigarettes, do you?"

Whenever she takes out a cigarette, she definitely asks this question. Knowing that I will not answer it, she always asks this?

"Don't answer," this time she blew out the smoke with some arrogance.

I smiled.

"This is your problem."

I kept my problem. I remained silent. She got up suddenly, almost blew smoke on my face, and walked away somewhat struttingly.

The pungent smell of a cigarette and the wetness of her perfume created the same effect as the thin cigarette pressed on her thin lips. This knot inside me is getting more tangled in the attempt to create a balance between a soft face and a bitter cigarette. Spidersweb? Perhaps she was knitting one in my head.

There is an age difference of 16 years between us. I am 40; she is 24. Yet we are friends. What connects us? Are those books and films that both of us like? Or those people and colleagues that both of us dislike? Or a kind of indifference towards what we like and what we dislike?

After all, she smokes cigarettes despite my dislike. Then she also asks me whether I like it or not. I have never seen so much sweat on her face.

She is tired, but happy. She has returned from a shoot. 'Do you know, I spoke to Modi?'

"Good, what did Modi say?"

"He said that you don't look like a journalist at all."

"Wow, what a compliment!" I am laughing. She doesn't care.

Then her hands are searching the pocket of her jeans. Then a cigarette is in her hand. And before lighting it, she asked, "You don't like it, right?"

"What?" I deliberately tried to avoid her question.

"I smoke cigarettes."

"If I say, throw it away, will you?" There is a challenge in my question.

'Yes', there is seriousness in her answer.

"Throw it away."

There is audacity in my voice.

She threw away the cigarette.

I have become small in my own eyes. On such occasions, she often laughs. But she did not laugh. There is a tenderness on her face which I usually try to decode. I keep telling her that when she has a cigarette in her hand, this tenderness disappears first from her face.

But this tenderness is not making me happy right now. I am feeling bad being small.

"Light another one."

"Wow, first you wasted my money and now you are saying, "Light, another one. Then why did you ask me to throw?"

"Why did you agree?"

She started laughing. I want her to rebuke me and say I think in an old way. But she is silent. We both understand the game of silence very well. Silence is like our third friend. I don't probably understand her by her age. Sometimes she is 40, sometimes 24.

It is raining heavily outside. The black clouds are all over the sky. Following the lightning from one end to the other, stormy weather, and big drops of rain from the sky to earth.

I said, "You know when the weather suddenly turns bad like this, I feel that some great sorrow has happened somewhere."

"Funny," She laughs aloud.

"Hey, you are a big rationalist. Since when did you start believing in such things?"

"I don't believe it. I just feel that perhaps the memories of many of my troubles are associated with rain.

"Do you know what I feel when there is a dust storm in the evening?"

"Oh, do you also think in symbols like this?"

It is not her habit to answer my questions. She says what she wants.

"In such weather, it feels like someone has cheated someone."

"Okay? Why do you feel like that?"

"Not only this, you know, I feel I am very mean. I can cheat someone."

I am looking at her innocent face, and laughing eyes, but I don't know why a pang rises within me. But for what? Will this girl cheat me? What kind of cheating? I have nothing to do with her.

She is laughing loudly—almost uncontrollably. Such laughter, careless about oneself, feels good and also surprises.

"Should I tell you a joke?"

"Joke? Tell me."

"In a bedroom..."

"Where do you get such stupid dirty jokes from?" I stopped her at one point.

"My friend Rony tells me, he has told many such jokes. But now I cannot tell you anymore."

I was feeling jealous, "What does this intimacy with Rony mean? But who am I to ask?" Her laughter has also stopped. She was silent. She was looking at me. This is a silence full of dilemmas. She realizes that the laughter of the joke has evaporated.

The feelings of Rony's mention were sitting between me and her. She was going to add more because she had a cigarette in her hand again. Her other hand was searching for the lighter.

This time she has not asked whether I like her smoking cigarettes or not.

Her version:

Why should I ask? I am upset. He is so senior and has read so many books. He knows so much but does not understand such a small thing.

But why is it so? What made him angry? Was the joke not for decent people? Or did he not like that Rony told me this joke? Why can't he tell it? I am 24 years old. I know what I should listen to and what I should not listen to. I can also decide who talks to me in what way. The thought of Rony brings a smile involuntarily. He can tell one story after another.

I cannot even tell such stories to Sir. When he will hear it, he will stop talking to me. Leave it, let it go. The thought of Rony makes my heart happy. My anger starts evaporating. Sir did not say anything like that. I didn't even tell him his name is not Rony but Rohit.

He must be jealous because Rony is also my close friend. Everyone is so jealous. Sir is good. He is a senior but still behaves like a friend. It is a pleasure to hear him talk continuously. I like to listen to him. Tomorrow I will light a cigarette in front of him and see his reaction.

It is night, there are bright lights outside, and there is a sweet, soft song inside the car.

My version

I am looking at her. This girl becomes something different every time I meet her as if I have not seen her before. A carefree girl who joined our news service because of her adventurous nature. She is young, she laughs with her friends. She comes to me to get her stories checked.

She calls herself my friend and laughs, "You are my oldest friend."

The car is at the red light. It is night, so there are fewer cars. She is looking outside.

Suddenly she says, "Lower the window," she quickly presses the button. A gust of humid air from outside comes inside.

"What happened?" Instead of answering my question, she is calling a boy standing on the other side of the road.

"He is my friend."

"Your friend?"

She asked that boy, "Listen, why didn't you bring roses for me yesterday?"

"I went to your house. Where were you?" The boy replied.

"Bring flowers tomorrow morning. We will talk then." She rolled up the window, and I started the car. Her sadness vanished. There is a childlike smile on her face.

"You know, you are my eldest friend. He is my youngest friend. We talk every day?"

I am speechless. First Rony, and now this 15-year-old boy. I wonder what kind of girl this is. How many more?

Source

I don't know what to think I am 40, she is 24. Sometimes I feel that she is 40, mature, and I am 24, childish. What if I have read so many books? What if she has seen less of the world? I stopped the car in front of her house. She is getting down, swinging the keys. She waved her hand. Now she is climbing the stairs.

"I will meet you tomorrow."

I have moved the car forward. Let's see which girl I meet tomorrow, 40 or 24?

Her behavior is nothing less than a spider's web.