He was a cardiologist. She was a healer. He charged five
hundred rupees per session. She charged five thousand. People went to him when
their heart did not work right. They went to her when they did not want it to
work right.
He worked through an Association. She worked through an Agency. They had a common business associate, who was known as a compounder by
the day and a pimp by the night. Unbeknownst to her, she became a donation to
the cardiologist by the business associate when his job was threatened.
They first met in a hotel room, and then they took the
business associate out of their business. They now met at her house. She did
not charge him. Every night, he waited outside her room for her to get free. He
amused himself by the sound of the squeaky bed thumping the wall, and her
daughter crying in the room at the attic.
He bought little gifts for her daughter, not for her. She
told him not to. Every night, she made coffee for him. Every evening, he aimlessly
drew her image on his prescription pad. Everyday, they waited for the night.
They did not show their hearts to each other. They both dealt
with too many of those. He said he loved her coffee. She said she loved his
taste. Sometimes she stayed up all night and watched him sleep. Sometimes he too
did the same. But in the morning, they both acted of waking up together.
A little bit of love, they both smelled in the air. A little bit
of love, they thought was lost. A little bit of love, they thought they had. Their
little love became a boy. He adopted the boy. A little bit of love continued.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _