“Write one word a day”, said the monk and gave her sachet with pages woven inside. She took it ruefully, still mourning. She wrote one word every day. On the first day she wrote “Forlorn” and vowed not to repeat the same word. “Wounded” was on the second day. On the 7 th day she wrote “tears”. Then came the 30 th day, the 60 th and then 90 th day. On the 100 th day she stared at her diary. She stared at the empty sheet for a long time. She closed it and went on to sleep in peace in days. Sadness was finite. “Rahila”, he yelled. A lot of by-standers were now looking. He looked pretty desolate and yet determined. “Rahila”. There was that firm voice again. A lad walked upto him and said “Two is better”. And “Rahila”, they called at a 2 story apartment which seemed firm to absorb their voice. Two became four and soon there was a crowd. “Rahila”, they called. “Give the poor lad, a sighter” said one. “Its about time” said another. One old man walked upto him and asked “By the...