A chiselled face, one that was not easy to forget. A jawline that was as sharp as the edge of a pencil. Nice, long fingers with clean nails as busy hands shuffled some papers and adjusted a book and a cup and saucer.

She took one look at him and knew.

He had to be a writer.

Had to. There was conviction in her thought, rare these days.

Chandalika hadn’t felt so strongly about anything ever since the last episode. It had left her defeated, broken, and broke. An emotional vacuum swept through her, leaving her crippled to feel.

But today was Not like that. She felt different today. She looked at him, again, from the corner of her eye, and cursed herself.

For a moment she saw him pour a cup of coffee. And the future disappeared, the present felt like a gift.

A minute, at the most, passed. She was becoming conscious. The confidence that hit her ten minutes ago, was about to crumble now she could feel. She kicked herself in her head, “as usual, daydreaming me.”

After all, Chandalika thought she had reason(s) enough to not feel confident. The pills have been at work- calming her down, and at the same time corroding her self-belief and corrupting her core.

But these were things that she could never say. The pills were meant to do her good. That’s what the doc said. That’s what Mithilesh has been saying. Mithilesh was her college sweetheart whom she married after he left her in India to go abroad. When his luck ran out there, he came back home, to her. Till date, she was not sure who took pity on whom.

But at this point, Chandalika really wanted this stranger – whom she had objectified in a matter of moments and crafted a mirage of improbable togetherness – to take pity on her and talk to her.

She wouldn’t mind some pity, after all.

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