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began again.
    Gopal prayed
for the day to be over and was about to revolt against mopping the room for the
third time that day when the doorbell rang. Sameera stood at the door. Before
she could say anything, Gopal blurted out. “I am so happy to see you,
Doctor sahib.”
    ≈

 
    ELEVEN
     
     
    “Why, is our
patient in pain again?” asked Sameera with concern.
    “I don’t
know what’s wrong with him, but I’ve never seen him so restless before.”
    Sameera had
finally decided to come. She had been like a cat on a hot tin roof all day in
her clinic. Her nurses had seldom seen her so distracted and preoccupied. Even
Mr. Verma, one of her regular patients who came for traction every day,
remarked that she did not look as bright as usual. Her mammoth reservoir of
patience had suddenly run dry.
    Normally she
would push her patients to try harder while simultaneously being empathetic
towards their pain; she always got them to do what was needed without getting
frustrated.
    But that day
she was a different person. She snapped when Mrs. Ahuja complained she would
not squeeze the therapy ball for more than one set. “Then please don’t waste my
time,” she said. Taken aback, Mrs. Ahuja meekly completed her routine.
    Finally at
lunchtime, Sameera sat alone and tried to clear her head. Why was she so
anxious? He was supposed to be very intelligent, but she had never had an
intellectually stimulating conversation with him. He was supposed to be very
good at his work, but then so was she. Yes he was young and good looking but
she had several young, good looking and sometimes even famous patients who were
much better behaved. They would be in awe of her skill and beauty while he was
rude, unpredictable and moody. That certainly could not explain why she felt
attracted to him. Or could it?
    She knew she
avoided guys who tried to woo her, always tried to avoid unnecessary attention;
Gautam never sought her, never approached her and never tried to start a
conversation with her. Delhi could have been the first and last time they met,
but fate brought them together again. Something about him was honestly
endearing—his deep brown eyes, his brusqueness.
    What shocked
Sameera the most was the physical attraction she felt towards him. That scared
her. She wanted to walk away unscathed. She hardly knew him and with all that
she had seen in her life, she just could not risk getting involved.
    Yet, as the
evening approached, she cancelled her much-loved piano class and headed for his
home. Though she tried to disguise this act as professionalism, in her heart
she knew that there was much more than ethics involved.
     
    ***
     
    Gautam was
lying propped up on his bed, looking expectantly at the door when Sameera
entered. He was looking even more dashing than she remembered.
    “Hello
patient. I am glad that you look better.” She looked around the room.
“Expecting someone special?” She wanted him to deny it but he just smiled.
    He was
thrilled. She had not called all day but now that she had come, he didn’t want
to complain and start the evening on a sour note.
    “Let’s see
how those ligaments are behaving today. The swelling is much less. There seems
to be...”
    But his mind
was elsewhere. How could she look so lovely all the time? She was dressed in a
simple white chikan kameez and a light blue churidar , with not a
crease out of place. How did she manage to stay so pristine in the humidity and
filth of Mumbai? Her hair was pulled up loosely in a bun, clasped with a
butterfly clip that let stray strands escape and fall softly around her face.
The most striking feature was her neck, exposed for the first time minus the veil
of her cascading hair. He stared at the neck, long, slender and white, just
like a swan’s. Uncluttered with jewelry, it was a canvas waiting for an
artist’s touch. He longed to be that artist. No longer in control of his
surging emotions, he just wanted to stroke her neck, to feel the softness with
his