Page 136 of 12 Years
Everyone in the room applauded as I finished my brief speech to the entire SecurityNet team. My New York trip a month ago had been incredibly successful. Four different private equity investors had pledged a hundred million dollars in new investment at a much-higher-than-expected valuation of half a billion dollars. Mudit felt it deserved a small celebration—the team needed a pat on the back. He organized a dinner at Gazebo, an Indian restaurant in Jumeirah Lake Towers.
As people began to mingle over chilled beers and starters, Mudit came up to me holding two Budweiser bottles.
‘To half a billion,’ he said, handing one of the bottles to me.
‘Like I always say—’ I started, but Mudit interrupted me.
‘It’s on paper. I know, sir.’ He laughed, clinking his bottle against mine.
We were still chatting when one of our employees came looking for Mudit and took him away. Left alone, I made my way to the terrace, unlocked my phone and checked Payal’s Instagram account—for the fifth time that day. I’d been doing this compulsively for the past month—while on the way to New York, in New York, in between investor meetings, on the way back to Dubai and then every day since I’d been back.
The posts were exactly what I’d expected: Payal documenting her life in bits and pieces, especially during vacations and festivals. She didn’t post often, averaging just two posts a month. But I had five years’ worth of pictures to look through, which meant over a hundred posts—an entire photo album of the love of my life living her life, loving another man.
Oh Instagram, the things you show!
I could see the places where Payal had gone on holiday in the first year of her marriage—Paris, Amsterdam and some Jain temple in Gujarat. In the second year, they went to Phuket and Shimla. The third year, it was a trip to Sydney. In each place, they always took one particular shot—Parimal standing straight with one arm around Payal, who stood next to him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her head on his chest.
Some of her posts included photographs of both sets of parents and the extended family. Payal never wrote muchin the captions, just simple heart or blessing emojis, or the occasional ‘Happy Diwali to all’ message.
Swiping through each picture of Payal and Parimal felt like taking a knife and stabbing myself. Yet, I couldn’t stop. I noticed every detail, from the handbag Payal carried to the dress and the earrings she wore.
‘What are you doing?’ Mudit’s voice startled me from behind.
‘Huh?’ I quickly locked my phone and turned around. ‘Nothing.’
‘Is that Payal?’ Mudit said.
‘What? No,’ I said.
‘You were looking at Payal’s pictures, weren’t you?’
‘No,’ I said firmly.
‘Didn’t she block you everywhere?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t Payal.’
‘Show me your phone. I’m damn sure it’s her.’
‘It’s another girl.’
‘Then I’m even more interested to see this new girl you’re stalking. Show me.’
Mudit extended his hand. From the look on his face, I knew he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. I unlocked my phone and placed it in his palm.
‘Itisher. I knew it,’ he said, scrolling through my Instagram feed. ‘How did you get unblocked? Did you hack into her account or something?’
‘Dude, no.’
‘Then?’
I remained silent.
‘Are you in touch with her?’ Mudit asked.
I shook my head.
‘Then explain this.’
