He stood over my table for several months dead and still. He was white and on his body were patches of green abstract paintings. He didn’t utter a single word; it looked as if he had invisible eyes and as if he was expecting someone to come to him and caress him. 

One day, Asim came to my room and held the cup with tender care. He sat on the chair, looked out the window and talked as if he were the owner of my room and as if the cup was his own. I imagined myself as his guest. 

“Never break this cup,” he said, “otherwise, my heart would be broken forever” 

He was serious with his words but I felt like laughing. I said, “If you are so much in love with him, why don’t you take him and lock him inside your cupboard.” 

“No he will suffocate.” He said, “Keep him in your own room. At least he won’t have to smell the rubbish that I inhale.” 

Few cigarettes popped out of his 

pocket and he carefully put them inside.  “And how many lessons did you 

prepare?” he said. “Just two lessons—the first and the last.” 

“I haven’t even touched a single page. And when do our exams start? ” 

“From 10th of April. We still have a week left.” I said. 

Exams were near and we had so little time to prepare all the lessons. We were doing it with all our efforts, and yet Asim seemed unconcerned. He talked to me as if it were a time for leisure. 

Suddenly, he fell silent and stared out the window towards the sky. 

“ Oye !” I said. 

He shrieked as if he was dreaming. 

“What happened?” he exclaimed. 

“Nothing,” said I, “I thought you were dreaming.” 

This time, he laughed and then began looking at the books on my shelf. He held Ulysses in his hand and said, “Did you read this?” 

“No, it proved a tough read. I went through fifty pages and gave up.” 

“It’s a great book,” he said. 

“ Yes,” I replied, “ But you need some guts to read it.” 

He sat on chair. I drank water and looked at him with curious eyes. I had my notes in my hands. 

He said, “So, may I take your notes and have them photocopied?” 

I had planned to study them that evening but I couldn’t deny his request. 

“ Okey !! Take it, but bring it back by tomorrow morning. I need it, ” I said. 

“ Sure !” he mumbled and sprang out of the room in a flash. 

I had heard of so many things about Asim in the last few months. He spoke very little with others and at times just stared out of windows or just looked at the coffee cup on my desk. People said, “Asim not only smokes cigarettes, he takes drugs as well.” 

Of course, world is full of exaggerations but when ten people repeat the same thing, it must be true. At least, it would be enough for doubt to start creeping in. 

There were several other rumors. 

“He is in love with a girl with who is a flirt. Last night he talked with her on the telephone for five hours and their conversation ended up in a quarrel.” 

“He never sleeps in his room. He gets drunk and sleeps in his friend’s room.” 

“He has lost his passion for arts or his studies.” 

“Last night, he fought with a stranger 

in a bar.” 

Asim was such an introverted character; he never told me anything personal. He just talked about studies and, at times, about the novels he occasionally read. He sometimes talked about football. But mostly, he stared out of the window. I have known him for five years and he has always said that he wants to become a writer. 

But, he never published a single line except some of pieces tagged as notes on Facebook. He waited for stuff to come to his head, but out of laziness and abeyance, he never wrote a single line. He smoked, got drunk and killed his creativity. 

Slowly by slowly, he forgot his dreams; he forgot what he wanted to be. He tried to live his life as a stranger but that too he failed. He played football but his decreased stamina forced him out of the competitive matches. He played only for fun; not to satiate his competitive vigor. In fact, he didn’t have any vigor at all. 

He tagged me on some of his notes on Facebook and they were dedicated to a girl. In his writings, there would be an abstract image of a pretty girl and there would 

be melancholic lines explaining how he dearly missed her and how much he was heartbroken by her absence. His notes made me curious about his affairs. 

One day, I asked, “So, what’s the matter?” 

“You bookish fellow! Don’t you still know about it?” he said. 

“How would I know?” I retorted. 

“What you have been hearing from others is true.” He said. 

“And who is she? Is she the one with the curly hair? ” I asked. 

“Yes!” he was bold in his answer. 

“ I heard, you guys were separated.” 

“No, we are back together again. And not for the first time,” he said. 

“People say she is a flirt and she doesn’t really love you. She is just playing you so that you can help her when she is in trouble.” I reported. 

Asim was silent. At some level, he had doubts over her feelings but was about his love towards her. He loved her so much that he couldn’t even imagine anyone other than her in his life. Asim just smiled at my question and left. 

He didn’t come to my room for a month. 

Once the exams were over, Asim came to my room on a Sunday morning and only God knows how drunk he was. He sat in a chair, looked out of the window and cried. 

“What happened?” I asked. 

He sobbed and said, “I’m broken again and this is for the final time. You guys were right. She was a flirt,” as he said this, his hand was clutched his forehead, his head was low and his legs were trembling and all of a sudden, he was taken by a fit of rage. He looked at the table and threw the coffee cup on the cemented floor. The cup shattered into pieces and for the first time in the years Asim felt better. 

From the haze of the moonshine, a tepid smile broke out. 

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