Bahar Bhai stopped in front of Chitra’s sickbed. Looking her over from head to toe, he asked softly,
“How are you, Rongona?”

Such odd questions at odd times seemed to suit Bahar Bhai perfectly. With a pained, weary smile, Chitra replied,
“I’m always fine.”

“Then why aren’t you asleep?”

At his question, a mischievous thought crossed Chitra’s mind. To make the man a little embarrassed, she said,
“Waiting for you.”

Bahar Bhai smiled. He wasn’t a man who smiled easily. Perhaps he did, but no one in Chitra’s household had ever seen it. The fact that Chitra could still joke amidst her suffering pleased him. He replied,
“Don’t wait for Bahar, girl. This heart is concrete—emotions touch it little. Your unspoken waitings will die in time. You’re a lover of flowers, why such fondness for thorns?”

“To taste sweetness, a prick or two from thorns is worth it. If in the end I gain a whole Bahar Bhai, what’s the loss?”

“But Bahar only knows how to burn!”

“How much does Bahar burn? Like a cigarette—or even more?”

Ah, today the girl seemed to have found wit enough to win with words. Bahar Bhai looked at Chitra’s face, worn thin by illness. In a very faint, steady voice, he said,
“If Rongona comes to burn, then perhaps Bahar will burn her a little less.”