If It's Not Forever PDF
Preview If It's Not Forever
Durjoy Datta and Nikita Singh if it’s not forever It’s Not Love Contents About the Author Also by Durjoy Datta Dedication I Was Almost Dead What If I Am Still Awake The Diary It Gets Interesting! We’re Not Taking Her! Haridwar Piyush Makhija To Gandhinagar Nivedita The Next Trip The Phone Number Bangalore Where’s Ragini? Ritam? Everyday Life The Shock Author’s Note Epilogue Acknowledgements Follow Penguin Copyright Page PENGUIN METRO READS IF IT’S NOT FOREVER … DURJOY DATTA was born and brought up in New Delhi. He completed a degree in engineering and business management before embarking on a writing career. His first book, Of Course I Love You …, was published when he was twenty-one years old and was an instant bestseller. His successive novels—Now That You’re Rich …, She Broke Up, I Didn’t!, Oh Yes, I’m Single!, If It’s Not Forever …, Someone Like You—have also found prominence on various bestseller lists, making him one of the highest-selling authors in India. Durjoy lives in New Delhi, loves dogs and is an active CrossFitter. For more updates, you can follow him on Facebook (www.facebook.com/durjoydatta1) or Twitter (@durjoydatta). NIKITA SINGH was born in Patna and grew up in Indore. She graduated in pharmacy and is the author of six bestselling novels, including Love @ Facebook, Accidentally in Love and The Promise. She has co-authored (with Durjoy Datta) Someone Like You and contributed to the books in The Backbenchers series. Nikita received a Live India Young Achievers Award in 2013. She works as an editor at a leading publishing house. Also by Durjoy Datta Hold My Hand She Broke Up, I Didn’t! I Just Kissed Someone Else! Till the Last Breath … Of Course I Love You Till I Find Someone Better (With Maanvi Ahuja) Oh Yes, I’m Single! And So Is My Girlfriend! (With Neeti Rustagi) Now That You’re Rich Let’s Fall in Love! (With Maanvi Ahuja) Someone Like You (With Nikita Singh) You Were My Crush Till You Said You Love Me! (With Orvana Ghai) To all the lives lost in the Delhi High Court blast (7 September 2011) Downloaded from www.Xossip.com An IBD Release I was Almost Dead I have seen dead people before. I have seen them on television, on the news, on their deathbeds, with their loved ones carrying them to the cemetery. But I have never seen dead people like this. Mutilated, maimed and lying in pools of blood. I have never seen anyone die in front of me, say their last words, cry out for help, look at me with horror in their eyes, choke on their own blood, breathe their last, and die. Never. But right now, they are all around me. Wherever I look, I see them. It’s a gory sight. My head buzzes and I cry out for their pain and out of my own. My ears ring from the noise of the blast, my nose bleeds and I have vomited twice. I look around to see chaos all around. The images are blurred. All I can make out is red. Blood. Or black, from the ashes of what’s burnt now—men, women, children. There is blood everywhere. On the ground, on the bodies of people, on their lost body parts … on me. It’s mine and it’s theirs. My skin singes and burns from the heat. It is red and slowly turns black and peels off. I lean against a wall and struggle to maintain coherence. I can hear sirens blaring in the distance, people running, crying and howling. There is commotion everywhere, cars burn in the background, the fumes of burning tyres fill up the air, and people are running all over. Some of them are carrying people in their arms. I struggle to keep my eyes open but they burn. I am covered in ashes and my head bursts as I look for my car. I cannot spot it. Not in the heap of mangled and charred remains of metal that lie in front of me. It is still hot and I can feel the radiation in my face. My neck hurts. I touch the nape of my neck—it is wet. There is blood on my fingers. I don’t know whether it’s mine or someone else’s. My entire body aches and burns. ‘ARE YOU OKAY?’ someone shouts in my ear. I feel like someone has put a hot iron rod in my ear. I stumble across some people—stilled people, people writhing and moaning, dead people, people bleeding on the ground. I see bloodied faces all around, gravely injured, and they are shouting, screaming and pleading for help. I stumble over them and walk away from the site of the blast. I am helpless. Where is Avantika? Home, I guess. Where am I? I take out my phone and call her. ‘Hello,’ she says. ‘Deb, where are you? I’ve been calling you … There’s been a blast in Chandni Chowk today, where—’ ‘I am fine,’ I say and disconnect the call. Things blur a little more. I pass out. The world becomes cold and dark. There is no pain. Am I dead?
The list of books you might like
