Naina Bajekal Extract from A Better Life
D
usk was falling when Amrit arrived at the farmhouse in Grasse. White flowers hung luminous over muted stone walls and the air was filled with the heady scent of orange blossoms. He could see Aana lying down under an oak tree, the line of her body hazy in the syrupy evening light. Amrit moved his hip slightly to dislodge a knot of pain and withdrew a plastic-wrapped carton from his pocket. He pulled a slender cigarette out from its machine-folded foil and lit it, savouring the bitter inhalation, the chemical sweetness of the first pull and the pleasant lightness coursing through his body. After so many months of not being able to choose what he ate, where he went, even the country he was in, there was a small power in being able to make a decision that was categorically bad for him. The thrill of being behind the wheel of his own life for once. A few hours earlier, waiting at the station in Nice for his train, he had downloaded Instagram for the first time. He was curious to see if Aana had posted any photos from Grasse and when he typed her name into the search bar, he found her account was not private. She had not shared anything new in the past few days and he scrolled through pictures of her with friends he did not recognise and Paris skylines. He clicked on the photos she was tagged in. Someone called Mia had photographed Aana lying on a picnic blanket with olives and a beer. When he knew Aana, she did not drink beer. In another, she was standing in the white space of a gallery, and a man had his arm around her. He seemed older, with a broad, handsome face and dark stubble. He tapped his screen twice more and found his way to the
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naina bajekal
