The interval was only five minutes away when Goel returned to his seat. He sat down, folded his palms on his lap and leaned back as far as the seat could go. Casually, he put out his right hand and placed it on Faleiro’s left thigh. He didn’t press down or anything but let it rest lightly. Faleiro didn’t respond. His body didn’t tighten from revulsion or fear. He didn’t ask Goel to remove it. He sat there, looking straight at the screen and laughed loudly at a joke in the film. Goel, feeling bolder, pressed down a little. Not encountering any resistance even now, he pressed down further. Within seconds, he had his fingers wrapped around Faleiro’s slender thigh.

The lights came on. He turned towards Faleiro, searching for a clue. Did he approve? Did he disapprove? Was he disgusted? Faleiro said he needed to stand up, stretch his legs. Goel removed his palm. ‘I’m going out into the lobby. Can I get you something, a coffee, a Coke?’ Goel declined politely. He said he didn’t feel like anything at the moment.

Goel kept his hands to himself for the remainder of the film. He felt annoyed with himself, annoyed with Faleiro, annoyed with the rain.

After the film, Goel suggested they have dinner. Faleiro, though not averse to the idea, explained he couldn’t eat until he’d had a drink or two. ‘We can have a drink at my place,’ said Goel, ‘it’s not too far from here. We can go to Yeti afterwards for dinner.’ Faleiro seemed to like the idea. He had never been to Goel’s house, never expressed a desire to visit. Goel was happy that he was coming today, but also a little nervous.

The front room of the house doubled as an office. Plastic chairs lined the wall. A Formica table occupied the centre of the room. Goel led Faleiro inside, to his bedroom. He wondered what Faleiro was thinking. He probably found this place awful.

The bedroom wasn’t sarkari at all. Novels and volumes of poetry lined a tall, elegant bookcase. A square-shaped glass almirah held Goel’s Hindustani classical collection. Goel took out a bottle of Black Label from a small bedside cabinet and poured two drinks.

Faleiro couldn’t stop talking about the film. He pointed out logical loopholes in the plot, shook his head at the absurdities. Goel was happy to listen to him but couldn’t help feeling that Faleiro was trying to avoid something. He was filling the air with rapid-fire analysis in order to avoid silence.

After the first drink, the conversation seemed to have run its course. Faleiro suggested they have another one before dinner. Goel refilled the glasses. He was going to do whatever Faleiro wanted him to.