In Dangerous Liaisons, people tell us about their forbidden trysts with all the wrong people.

He was a young professor – about 24-25. I was in my final year of college – about 19-20. I remember developing an instant crush on him after hearing him sing during a competition as part of our college fest; he was the judge, but everyone had requested him to sing. He turned out to be a brilliant performer.

During that same fest, I'd taken part in a challenge where one had to pick a Hindi phrase from a movie and speak for a minute. Being a Kannadiga, my Hindi was terrible — apparently, I was fucking it up the entire time. When I pinged him appreciating his voice, he immediately remembered my performance and said it amused him. I don't recall who sent whom the friend request on Facebook earlier, but I was surprised to learn he’d taken notice of me. One thing led to another, and soon, we were flirting. And for years, it remained just that. We only met up in person, alone after I graduated. But even then, we had to steer clear of any public place; we mostly spent time in his car and drove around.

Our not being able to meet openly wasn't just because we were in a taboo relationship, but also because it all took place in a small town where all my relatives almost always knew about my whereabouts. Since word spread quickly there, I had to ensure I was never seen with him in public. Sometimes the longing didn’t feel worth it, and I wondered if I should have instead liked someone my own age; after all, it would've been easier to pass off a classmate as a friend even if we were caught spending time together.

It was mutually understood between us that we wouldn’t speak of our flirtatious banter to anyone and ensure it never gets disclosed. I come from an orthodox family that had very strict rules about relationships. So, I couldn’t randomly talk to him at home. He used to call me during twilight hours — when my mother was busy getting ready for her maghrib namaaz to overhear me — and I would stand on my front porch and talk to him. I never called him myself: he stayed in the college quarters and I was worried he might be around preferred professors and college staff. Instead, I always waited for him to call. When on campus, we would just steal glances in the corridor and parking lot.

I was a Muslim woman, in a Muslim college, falling in love with a Muslim professor from a different community. Besides romance between students and professors being forbidden by college rules, he was also very sought after. I was worried about being penalized both at college and at home. I am unsure what my parents would have done but it scared me, nonetheless. There was a possibility of him getting fired and me getting kicked out. My friends were mostly non-judgmental, but I had some religious friends and I worried constantly about their reactions.

Initially, I revealed it to one or two friends but never told them all the details about it because I couldn’t trust anyone, fearing they would expose it. I have never been good at secrets even if it saved my life, and hence slowly started telling more friends. One of my friends was a jokester and very popular in college. Sometimes, he would tease me in front of others very subtly — or hoot and whistle when the professor was walking past us. My college also started a confession page and I was worried someone from the small group of people who knew about it might expose us.

I would be incapacitated during the twilight hours, though — unable to do anything but obsessively game while I waited for his call. One evening after finishing the phone call my mother asked me, ‘Who are you talking to outside in the dark?’ and I nearly blacked out.

Hiding the relationship was a constant source of anxiety. It also didn’t help that the professor and I never spoke openly about not revealing it to anyone, being young, shy, and emotionally immature, we silently and mutually assumed to keep it quiet as much as possible. I often wonder if he told anyone. Sometimes, I wondered if he did the same with other students – especially when he went without contacting me for days on end. That one thought drove me up the wall. I neglected my studies for a bit, too, because I was busy waiting for him. Having to escape my mother's ever-watchful gaze and keep a poker face at home even when I was deeply hurting was a tremendous challenge – my family comprised six people sharing a 2BHK that was less than a 1000-square-foot with just one functional bathroom. It was a lot to deal with; I’d cry in small bursts in the bathroom and nowhere else.

It was years later when we got into a physical relationship. He initiated it.

If I'm being completely honest, though, him being a professor was definitely fascinating for me – the attraction made me feel like I was part of a movie. It was thrilling! His being a musician made it even more alluring. Once I graduated and left for my job, we lost touch for a while. We rekindled it later for a very short while, and soon after, he got married. I didn't see a future with him anyway, and once the taboo nature of our dynamic was eliminated, the passion was gone, too.

Looking back, I realize that the thrill — albeit entrancing — is short-lived. I still bring trauma from that relationship to my current ones; waiting for that one call in a day and wondering if he was being careful or if just didn't care or if he was with someone else too was very harmful to my psyche.

As told to Devrupa Rakshit.