He would extend his hand into her room where it would nose around like a periscope, then reach out and pluck the jar of cookies from the shelf, the same cookies Libby had been eating just a couple of hours earlier, cookies that would never be shared with him. The hand would tighten its grip and, when Libby was looking the other way, withdraw to Mayank’s room.

Mayank and Swati walked back to his room along the cobbled pavement that ran alongside the chemistry labs. He had his arms around her waist. He mumbled something about Oxford looking quite splendid and Swati mumbled something about how the world always looked nice when one had one’s arms around a woman. Mayank thought this was uncalled for but didn’t let go of her waist.

On reaching his hall of residence, Mayank realized he had forgotten his code. He punched in variations on a four-digit theme: 5281, 1285 and 8215 but the door refused to budge. After five minutes, Mayank was about to give up and walk across the road to the Porter’s Lodge to get help when the door swung open. Libby to the rescue. She had been walking around downstairs trying to find a light. She had an unlit candle in her hand. Would Mayank have a box of matches on him? Mayank hesitated for a second. A simple thought tiptoed across his mind. She does not offer me her cookies when I go to her room. Why should I share my light with her? He heard Swati thank her for letting them in. He felt her unfamiliar hand reach into his pocket with artificial familiarity. She fished around for the lighter, then handed it to Libby.

The first thing that Swati noticed when she entered Mayank’s room was the CD player on the bed. ‘Do you sleep with that thing?’

‘I know,’ laughed Mayank, ‘yes, that’s it’s rightful place. I go to bed listening to my favourite album and I like waking up the same way. Mad, no?’ He pressed play and a Leonard Cohen song came on. She threw her hands in the air, ‘Oh, I looove Leonard Cohen.’ Mayank opened a bottle of red wine. Swati said she was fine; she did not feel like drinking. She dug into the white thermocol box of chips, cheese and doner kebab which they had picked up from the kebab van on St. Giles. Mayank poured himself a glass and switched on the telly.

It wasn’t that Mayank didn’t want to have sex. He felt that Swati’s aggression towards his music system was unnecessary. He lost interest in her the moment she turned to him and said in a sharp voice, ‘Is that thing going to remain on the bed all night? Even when I am around?’

‘Yes,’ he had replied in an even tone that betrayed nothing. It was the kind of ‘yes’ that brooked no further discussion.