8.07 am

I'm sitting on the couch in Rohit's cabin, my fingers massaging my temples in a circular motion. It's been more than 24 hours since I've slept a wink. This isn't the first time I've gone without sleep for this long. But this is the first time I've had such an eventful night. I turn my neck to glance at Rohit. Clad in navy blue scrubs, he is busy barking instructions on the phone. I'm guessing he is talking to the lab assistant who will be analyzing the 46 swabs I've carefully brought back to the hospital less than 10 minutes ago.

I look ahead and zone out, Rohit's chatter not registering in my head. My neck feels sore, so I try and move it around in circular motions to relieve the stiffness. I turn it right and left, tilt it up and down. I'm about to have another go at rotating it clockwise and anti-clockwise when I feel strong fingers gently massaging my shoulders. I close my eyes and tilt my head back to enjoy the feeling. The deft fingers cleverly manipulate all the pressure points in my back, and within minutes I not just feeling much more relaxed, but much more energized as well.

"Coffee?"

I smile with my eyes closed. The question seems rhetorical. I still need to make my way back to the apartment. And in order to do that, I need a liberal dose of caffeine in my system. He moves away, and I suddenly feel cold that he isn't near me. I hear a click and then a clipped command that says "two black coffees." Within no time he's by my side, sitting on the couch. I tilt my head and place it in the crook of his shoulder, loop my hands around his arms and sigh. He extends his arm behind me to place it on my other shoulder. We sit like that, drawing strength from each other, till the coffee arrives.

"Sona," his gentle voice wakes me up as I'm almost drifting to sleep. "Coffee's here."

I hmmm. I want to sleep, on his shoulder. He shakes me gently and I make an effort to open my eyes.

"Drink some coffee and then go home and sleep."

Home. I like the sound of that word. I don't remember the last time he used that word in our context.

Another day, another time. On the sets of Kahaani Parvati Ki, where Rohit had become a frequent visitor. This time watching a live scene when I was shooting. Clad in a red chiffon sari, my head smeared with vermillion, I was swearing revenge in front of my entire family. Kunal had just been murdered, or so the police had informed his family. While Parvati was promising her in-laws, she would see to it that Kunal's murderers would die the same way as him, Rohit, standing behind the director was waiting for the tomfoolery to be done with. The moment the director shouted cut, he was by my side, with a box of tissues to help me get rid of the excessive vermillion that was beginning to stain my face.

As the director continued to take close up shots of the other family mourning members, Rohit and I made our way out. Sitting on one of the benches near the ever-bustling production kitchen, while one of the spot boys handed us our glasses of ginger tea, Rohit looked at me and asked: "What if my life was in danger?" I was mad, very mad. How dare he? Why would his life be in danger?

"Sona?" He snapped his fingers in front of me and I tried hard to keep my anger in control. By now, the entire production team knew that Rohit and I were going to tie the knot. I didn't want to insult him in front of strangers by yelling at him. I continued twisting the tea glass between my palms, trying to reign in my all-so-famous temper. Oblivious to this, Rohit continued: "Sometimes I wonder, how much reality is there in all this fantasy you spin on Indian Television."

"Not much," I speak with gritted teeth. "But that should hardly matter to someone like you. After all, you have everything a common man wishes for - a happy doting family, lots of money, education, fame. I need to be the last person to be worried if you're life was in danger. With all their connection and reach, your family will ensure nothing will ever happen to you."

I open my eyes and snuggle a little closer. He protectively envelopes me with his free arm.  Instinctively, I raise my head and place a small peck near his jaw and whisper, "I would die of worry if something were to happen to you." He looks at me quizzically, raising his famous eyebrow, asking if everything is okay. I shake my head. I'm sure he doesn't remember. But I do.

*****

11.15 am

I'm back in the apartment. I came back a little over an hour ago. Rohit and I got swabbed too. Rohit wanted me to get swabbed because I had obviously visited the Sippy Mansion last week. And I wanted him to get swabbed. Well, he works with COVID patients all the time. I'm sure a little testing never hurt.

When I reached home, I had every intention of going to bed and not getting up until dusk. Try as I might sleep evaded me. And so after fifteen minutes of fervently tossing and turning on the bed, I got up to make myself a steaming hot mug of black coffee.

I'm standing by the large windows staring at the concrete structure that has become the foundation of my marriage - The Sukhmani Sippy Hospital. My thoughts keep going back to my conversation with Ma where I told her I was keen to start a foundation. I've thought of a name - The Sukhmani Sippy Foundation.

I quickly grab a pen and some paper and begin jotting my ideas down for what I want to do through it. One hour and five pages later, I put my pen down. The written pages seem like a maze, with words written, many crossed out, notations in the margins. I pick a page up and smile. Only I can make sense of what's written on them. I place them on the coffee table and make my way into the kitchen. I'm too tired to cook. There's some leftover rice and yogurt in the fridge. I scoop a generous portion of the yogurt into a bowl and make my way to the dining table. I play a comic series on YouTube, on my phone, and begin eating my yogurt. Just as I place the third spoon in my mouth, the front door clicks open and a tired Rohit walks in.

I momentarily stop eating and get up to relieve him of his bag.

"You're not sleeping." It's a statement.

"I wasn't able to."

He looks at the table for a moment and then makes his way into the kitchen. He's back with another bowl of yogurt. I feel disheartened.

"Rohit, I didn't know you'll be coming home for lunch. I'll quickly whip something up." I get up from the table, but he holds my palm and forces me to sit down.

We eat in companionable silence. Then the two of us retire to the bedroom. As soon as I place my head on his arm, I promptly fall asleep.

*****

4.10 pm

"Good afternoon, Sonpari," Rohit's cheerful voice wakes me up. A bright orange light is streaming into the bedroom from the slight cracks between the curtain panels. I stare at my settings, groggy, and then realize where I am. I sit up, rubbing my eyes like a little child. Rohit laughs and comes and sits next to me and takes my hand in his. I'm bemused and try to raise my eyebrows in questioning but fail miserably.

What's going on? He refuses to answer my question. I get up and make my way to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. When I come back, I find a steaming hot cup of coffee on the coffee table in front of the couch. Rohit is nowhere to be seen. I can smell something delicious. I momentarily think about making my way to the kitchen, but decide otherwise, settling down on the couch and grabbing my mug. The mug is too hot and so I absently twirl it between my hands waiting for the coffee to cool down. I'm still feeling sleepy, or is it fatigue, I'm not really sure.

I bring the mug closer to my face to inhale the aroma of the black liquid. It lifts my spirits up a bit. I risk a sip and instantly regret the hasty decision. I've just burnt my tongue.

Just as I place mug back on the coffee table, Rohit makes his way to the living room. Clad in a black A-line vest with track pants, a kitchen towel draped casually across his shoulder, he looks like a Greek God.

I shake my head and get up. In the process, I hit my foot against the coffee table and trip. I close my eyes, awaiting the fall, but instead find myself securely nestled in his arms. Involuntarily, I move my hand up towards the bulge near his shoulders. Rohit should be a Bollywood star. His height, his physique, my eyes trail their way unto his face, where he is giving me his classic one eyebrow quizzical look.

"All okay?"

"Yes," I mumble. My voice comes out raspy.

"You're not coming down with a cold, are you?" He now looks concerned.

I shake my head. "Just tired. Nothing a warm shower won't cure."

He smiles and lets go of me. "When you're done, dinner will be waiting."

I smile and linger a tad longer, soaking up the first sign of rain. My soul is parched and this feels heavenly.