Just before leaving he took the pain of scribbling a few lines onto a piece of paper. She remained faithful to that piece of paper, for quite some time at least. * If he could take back all those bitter moments they had conjured up he would have done it without a moment’s hesitation. But time wouldn’t allow it; his actions were already inscribed into the gigantic chronicle of life. How shameful! Months into their marriage Miguel laid his hand on her. It wasn’t right, he knew it but he had done it and now nothing could be done about it. “Are you happy now?” she said sobbing. “This is what it feels like to be married, a swollen eye that’s what marriage does. Anyways you couldn’t do anything else properly with me, so at least you get what you wanted. Some man you are!” “I want to be a writer. A real one” he told her paying no attention to her insults and bitter sobs. This utter indifference would grow to consume them both wholly but they did not know that then. She stared back at him not knowing what exactly to say. “I don’t know why or for what all that what happened happened. I swear.” Miguel could speak with a lot of tenderness and it won her over. “You touch me like that again…” her voice broke off fighting the tears. Miguel went close to her, held her in his arms and gently stroked her hair. They lost track of time, in each other’s arms time no longer dominated. “You’re one of the most wonderful writers I can think of” she whispered confused and took out a wrinkled piece of paper. Neither the sands of time Nor the strong arms of the clock that ticks Will drown my love or separate me from the perpetual you A week later he handed Mr. S Kumar, the last piece of writing he would do for the old man and his Newspaper. “What the hell do you intend to do?” he asked trying to hide that contemptuous look that frequented his face. “You just got married,
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