Little Love

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.

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