June had never been this hot. Summer was in full swing, the heat casting an arid glow onto the parks and gardens all around. Sparrows chirped about on the windowsills, while pigeons flapped through the skies, in a hurry to make the most of the day, before the Sun unleashed its full ferocity.

The lanes were mostly empty, barring the hawkers lugging their pushcarts with vegetables from door to door, calling out in their characteristic notes for attention of the ladies of the house, wiping the sweat off their foreheads as they dragged along in the blistering sun. A scooter or two whirred by once in a few minutes, and a car zoomed past now and then.

A series of majestic, colonial style bungalows with their expansive, immaculate gardens- lawns which were once verdant before this grilling summer prevailed, peered out from either side of the boulevard. Rangoon creepers and Bougainvillea in shades of yellow, pink and white adorned the windows of the stately homes of the elite of South Delhi. Roses of various colours lined the stone pathways or were potted in decorated earthen crocks, with gardeners splintering water onto them with their plastic hoses, hoping the moisture would suffice for the day. In some houses, the servants were washing expensive cars taken out from their garages- the water spilling out onto the graveled pathways, yet evaporating almost instantly under the sun. The lanes in front of the houses hosted a variety of trees- ranging from the shady Neem to the towering Ashoka. Gulmohar bloomed in a vivid conflagration, splasing red over the parched, pale blue sky. Remnants of the golden glory of the Amaltas around lent a mellow glow to the avenues of the posh neighbourhood.

In the midst of the all richness, distinguished by its stark façade, stood a two storied, pure white edifice, at the very end of the lane.

A group of children were playing cricket in the dusty grounds across the street- their chatter, their squeals of laughter, the sounds of their disagreements audible from a distance. Even the sun and the sweat couldn't bar them from honing their talent to become the next Sachin or Saurav for India. When exhausted, they would pause and then sit around, chattering, for glasses of Roohafza that their mothers had prepared to save their over-energetic children from sun strokes. At ten thirty in the morning, the heat was set to grill.

A lone figure peered out at the group of chirping children in the playground through the first floor of that white building- the one with its perfectly manicured, albeit slightly dried garden- the garden wherein each plant had been planted and tended to with care by its owner initially and who still found time to supervise his plants. Gardening had started as a means to distract his mind from the woes of his life, but now it was a hobby. The loo, which'd come uninvited at the early hours of what promised to be a sweltering hot morning, rustled the leaves of the Ashoka trees lining the entrance to his office.

"It had been ages since he'd played cricket himself. Maybe he should start again! He'll need to see if he still had it in him to hit the winning six!" the figure thought to itself, as it swirled its mug of freshly brewn coffee.

A gust of warm wind blew over on his face, shaking the leaves of the pink bougainvillea, creeping against the window, its leaves shining fiercely in the summer glaze. His hair splattered around his forehead with the effect, as Sameer took another sip of his hot coffee, watching the children enjoy their summer break to the fullest. Somehow, whatever be the weather, Sameer's fascination for the beverage never ceased. He did enjoy the traditional lemonades, thandai and Khus sherbets, and Roohafza of course. But nothing helped to clear up his mind the way coffee did, after another unfortunate start to a morning.

Sameer stretched his back, the white cotton fabric of his shirt relaxed and then spread tautly across his shoulders. The Usha fan rotating at top speed in the room, did its best to dry the blotches of sweat staining his shirt. Another waft of loo ruffled his hair and Sameer peered pensively out of the window again, thinking about the happenings of the morning.

He'd fought with her again!

"Sameer...ab dekho tumhari padhai bhi ho gayi....business bhi set ho gaya hai....26 ke ho gaye ho...ab shaadi ki baat chalayein kya beta...tumhare papa ke bahot sare..." she trailed off at the look on Sameer's face- eyeing her as if she had gone berserk.

"Mujhse kisi ladki ki shaadi kara ke uski bhi zindagi barbaad karengi kya...fir use bhi dusri, teesri shaadi karni padega aur hamara baccha hostel me dhakke khata rahega...," he responded bitterly. Vishakha's eyes grew misty as she turned to her breakfast. "Tum hamesha itni chubhne wali baatein kyun karte ho Sameer...!" she uttered, unable to restrain himself.

"Main sirf baatein karta hun...aapne mujhe zindagi bhar chubhne wale dard diye hain!" he responded angrily, and knocked off the glass jar containing fresh mango juice onto the floor. There was a loud bursting sound and the floor was strewn with splintered pieces of glass, gleaming in the morning sunlight sifting through the huge French windows.

"Aisa kya kiya hai maine...aur tumne kaunsa kabhi pyaar dikhaya hai mere liye...maanti hun maine galti ki...tumhe shayad meri zarurat thi aur tab maine tumhe sahara nahi diya... main apni is zindagi mein itni ulajh gayi ki...par ab mujhe ehsaas hain...roz main tumse baat karne ki koshish karti hun...jo bhool mujhse huyi use sudharne ki koshish karti hun...Sameer, naraazgi ki bhi ek hadh hoti hai...," Vishakha spoke through her tears.

"Hadh hmmm!" he smirked. "Meri naraazgi ki koi hadh nahi...so please...aap apna natak band kar dijiye! Jab mujhe aap ki zarurat thi, tab aap nahi thi...aur ab Sameer Maheshwari ko kisi ki zarurat nahi hai!"he snapped, wiping his hands on the napkin, as he stood up leaving his breakfast part-eaten. .

"Yeh sab us ladki ki wajah se hai! Tum maano na maano...tumhe bhi aage badhna hoga...akele zindagi nahi guzari jaati...! Lekin tumhari zindagi to abhi tak usi mod pe atki hai! Lagta hai jaise us ladki ki wajah se tumhe pyaar se hi allergy ho gayi hai!" With this Vishakha too left the table in tears.

Sameer sipped his coffee again, as her words echoes in his mind. "Pyaar se allergy...hmmm...kaash aap ye jaan paati...ki mujhe pyaar se nahi...pyaar ko mujhse allergy hai...," he thought as the memories of the times spent with Naina and her subsequent betrayal flashed across his mind. Only Sameer knew how broken he had been all his life. It was only his Nanu's faith in him that one day he would come around, and his love for Naina, which had made him think of himself as a normal, young and carefree boy, who for once, wanted to be happy. But that had too not meant to last.

At almost twenty six, life had taught him enough lessons- two most important ones. First was to love no one and depend upon no one. Second was to follow the first.

Vishakha had been of the opinion that Sameer could sway towards extreme self-destructive traits, especially after the suicide fiasco, and deemed it better that he stayed under supervision in Delhi. It didn't matter to him at that time. "Woman! Take a break...don't act concerned...where were you for the past twenty years of my life?" he'd responded rudely to her hints of taking him to Delhi with her. Initially he'd been dabbling in Nanu's business and been doing pretty decently too, but he could never get his mind off Naina. Being in Ahemdabad somehow triggered his senses to reminisce her, no matter how hard he tried to forget. And then bumping into people- schoolmates, or spotting members of her family frequenting the market, or crossing her society had not been helping matters. Hence, a year post Nanu's death, Sameer gave up working control of Nanu's business to Munshiji, promising to take updates frequently and visit as when and needed, he himself shifted base to Delhi to be with his step-father and mother.

In the months that followed, despite claiming to hate her, Sameer still subconsciously, desperately searched for Naina, looked out for any news of her, her phone number, asked Munna and Pandit if she'd returned to Ahemdabad, but all was in vain. If only he could see her once! As if she would be the same smiling Naina, not married to another man. She would still be his Naina.

He'd curtailed his sleep, because of the love making dreams he used to get or the horrors of revisiting Nanu's demise and her marriage. He'd seen Arvind climb the very horse in the baraat that was set for Naina's house. And he'd dreamt of Naina waiting for him in a beautiful bridal attire, her eyes shining with mirth, her laughter reverberating with the musical chorus and then Arvind pulling her up onto the horse, the touching of their lips, her arms encircling his neck. Them waving goodbyes to their family, including her evil father. And then the orgy of the prince and princess making love to each other. This was when Sameer would wake up, his forehead beaded with sweat, his breathing choked.

Another six months later, Sameer finally realized that Naina was not coming back to him- ever again. And the last straw had been during Munna and Swati's wedding during his first winter in Delhi. Sameer had found himself hoping yet again that Naina would come to Swati's wedding. They were the best of friends once. And then, somehow if he could just see her, or talk to her, he might get a closure. Although deep down, he'd also selfishly hoped that her marriage would perhaps have failed by then.

Those two weeks in Ahemdabad was the first vacation he'd taken in months after he'd gotten to work with Mr. Somani. Though it wasn't a pleasurable experience to be employed by his step-father, who was determined to see him fail; work helped him he felt, to keep stray thoughts- thoughts about Naina, their past and her present at bay.

During the wedding, he was determined to appear unaffected, nonchalant, lest he met Naina. Yet his eyes invariably sought her through every function. He hoped against hope to see her strolling in, desperate for a sight of her. Yet he felt afraid of how he'd be able to see her on some other man's arm. He needn't have bothered, for Naina didn't turn up- not for the mehendi, not the sangeet, nor the Haldi nor the wedding. He must have waited for her till the last of the guests exited the reception hall, perhaps even beyond. Ahgast, he let out a deep sigh as he exhaled a plume from his cigarette. And then he turned and punched his fist in the rock solid pillar. He did nothing but hurt himself. Nothing happened to the pillar. Like nothing happened to Naina. The girl with the heart of a stone- no, a diamond- which gleamed and lured people towards it, but was the hardest to penetrate or to destroy. He promised to himself to forget all about her.

It was during that time that Sameer's agonized mind came up with a logical solution- he'd fallen for Naina because he'd been sleeping with her. If he slept with other woman again, he could come out of it easy. After all, God has showered this world with beauty. Munna and Pandit acceded to this logic, partly because it might hold true, and partly because they were willing to cling to every thread of hope that their friend showed at a life full of vigour again.

Once back in Delhi, Sameer started frequenting parties and discos and restaurants in search of amiable and beautiful bed partners. He stumbled upon many- most of them being the spoilt daughters of prosperous businessmen. Some seemed to have brown, almond eyes like Naina. Some had the same smile. Some were blessed with legs more beautiful than he'd ever seen. Yet, nothing, absolutely no one seemed to surpass the image of perfection, of womanhood etched in his mind.

But he still did not give up his conquests. As if him sleeping with any other woman would affect Naina- would pain her, torture her. It was his way to exact revenge on her or to tame down his feelings of love; or perhaps to convince his own mind that love was nothing but lust. And lust could be found anywhere! He did not need Naina. He did not love Naina. Though everytime, every night, he would think of nothing but Naina and the comfort of her arms around him.

To begin with, he faltered many times as the woman under him waited for action. Undressing someone else did not reek of passion, did not entice him like before. Sometimes, the patience of the girl wore out and she blasted him or hit him on the head declaring him gay, as she collected her clothes and moved away in a temper. And then, sometimes, when he refused to show his potency, the girl in question would try her best to seduce him. He seems rich and inviting she would think. Yet, step by step, despite everything, Sameer inched forward. And before the next summer dawned, Sameer had regained his position as a rake!

Now that lust gave him some control over his emotions, Sameer decided to seriously rethink about his career. Working with Mr. Somani wasn't really satisfying nor teaching him enough. Hence, with the small fortune his Nanu had left him, Sameer decided to utilize his educational degree and open up a publication agency. But in an attempt to have Sameer invite disaster over his own life, Mr. Somani benevolently entrusted him with the responsibility of managing a publication agency he'd himself started a few years back, and which wasn't doing as great as he would have expected. Something to keep both his and Vishakha's mind off the tragedy in Sameer's life as well as Sameer's gaze from his more profitable business ventures. And then if Sameer actually succeeded in reviving that business, he could open up another one for himself and with the experience, excel at it since the beginning, he'd offered.

Unable to bear Vishakha's insistence and Somani's repeated taunts about not able to stand upto challenges in life, Sameer acceded and took full control of "Somani Publication Agency". Experience, good or bad, always taught a lesson- so his Nanu had told.

Like a phoenix trying to rise from the ashes, Sameer set about rebuilding his life from ruins. When he was handed control of Somani Publication Agency, he realized it had been prey to mismanagement, was under-staffed and lacked able employees, while also being hugely in debt. All in all- the perfect legacy for Mr. Somani to have endowed Sameer with. Realizing he was in for a challenge, he devoted his being to the company. Sameer slogged day and night, organized the divisions into procuring, marketing and advertising, editing team, administrative works, finance, material procurement, supply chain, publishing etc. And this luckily spared him very less time to spend at home in Delhi or to think about Naina.

Work had also helped Sameer curtail his vices to a great extent. Two years post the launch of his career, he'd met up with his buddies on a business trip to oversee Nanu's mills in Ahemdabad. As Sameer eyed the cigarette Munna was smoking, Sameer lunged and pulled it out of his mouth. "Bhai...tujhe chahiye to bol de na...aur hain mere pass!" Munna protested. But then he saw Sameer crushing the stub with his shoe. "Naina or no Naina! He now couldn't bring himself to smoke, nor could he see his friends become victims of the malignant addiction."

Drinking had proven to be tougher. What had started with a casual immersion of despair in a glass of Whiskey had turned back into an addiction for Sameer. But slowly with the increasing demands on professional front, he realized he couldn't afford to be irresponsible anymore- people looked upto him and his company for sustenance. And with time, he had been finally able to put a tab on his drinking and limited it mostly to reasonable doses. But then he did have bouts where he would get drunk, when her memories pained him. But these instances reduced over the years, as his publication agency flourished. Women too, took a backseat, for now Sameer had hardly any interest left in the gender. He'd failed to find anyone who could drive him crazy with excitement the way she could, or one who could share his joys and sorrows alike. Forget that, some did not even seem capable of a decent, intellectual conversation. And then Sameer knew he was considered a rich, handsome catch and females did their best to put on appearances to please him. But what they did not know was that Sameer could see through their pretence all along, which sometimes led him to wonder why hadn't he been able to see through Naina's? Maybe he was naïve back then or because she'd been real with him.

Vishakha was pleased with Sameer's hard work and his rapid progress over the years. She realized Sameer had inherited business acumen from her own father. But unfortunately that did not change Sameer's behavior towards his mother. Sameer did not forget, and since he did not forget, he could not forgive. He could attribute it to his beastly Sun sign traits, or to his sense of justice, but Sameer continued to remain cold and belligerent with his mother, no matter how hard she tried to amend for her past deeds.

Another burst of loo greeted him, pulling Sameer out of his reverie. He glanced at his watch. It was almost 11 now. He swirled the coffee in his cup and drained the last dregs of the now cold beverage. He closed the blinds on the window and retreated to his chair.

Sameer took pride in the way he'd come along all this while. To start with, he'd been miserly when it came to decorating his office and had curtailed on unnecessary expenditures. He'd redirected the funds in timely payment of salaries and in procuring standard printed machines and able artists. He'd forayed into children's books- a genre which had payed off really well. And then he'd delved into the world of fiction more- branching into thrillers, historical fiction etc. The last piece, which he'd grudgingly and selectively included had been romance. He'd also decided to publish in different langugaes- English, Hindi and Gujarati for now, and was looking to explore many more. Now the agency was replete with funds, had struck a name for itself in a short span of time. And then Sameer had invested in the look and ambience of the workplace- for people often judged a book by its cover and a publisher by his office. His own cabin however, was not particularly lavish, but suited to meet his basic requirements.

The clock struck four in the evening. Sameer had forgotten about lunch as he scratched the tally once again. Somehow he wasn't able to focus today. This was the third time he'd messed up on the account entries. He didn't know why, but his mind was wandering over to the morning, to his mother's words and to Naina- much more than it usually did. The howling of children could still be heard from the playground across, but the summer evening was infused with a strange nostalgia. Sameer counted. It had been exactly five years, three months and nine days since he'd last seen her. Five years since that fateful day! A nubile young woman tapped on the door again, harder this time. Sameer was jerked from his thoughts and looked up and answered "come in".

Rita was his personal assistant. And she had been smitten by Sameer the moment she'd laid her eyes on him. It had been his first day at the publication house, imparted to him by his step-father and the previous owner of the agency, Mr. Somani. Rita herself had been about to quit as she believed she'd no bright future in the company, which'd been in continual losses. But when she got to know Sameer would be their boss and she would be his PA, she found herself tearing away the resignation letter she'd typed the very morning. Since then, she'd tried all the tricks in the book to get Sameer to notice her. But to no avail. Sameer was impervious to her smiles, her sweet talk, her luscious hair, or her made up face. And then she tried to foray into the scope of attractive, yet revealing clothes- wearing skirts or shirts with buttons open from where her bosom would peek out. And that had earned the ire of Sameer. He'd initially shrugged off her attempts, but then her actions became too obvious to ignore. Infact, Sameer had bluntly pointed out to her that if she tried another advance at him, he would simply fire her. Poor Rita had been heart-broken that night and contemplated a resignation as well. But later she realized Sameer hadn't really wronged her. He had never misled her nor asked her for any favours apart from professional. And her youth, coupled with the advice of seniors in her profession from her previous job, had earned her enough experience as to how low some men could stoop- asking for sexual favours under the garb of secretarial work. So she decided to start afresh- as a professional help. Since the next day, she started dressing modestly again- in crisp churidaars or in cotton-silk sarees and focused on doing her work proficiently rather than on Sameer's knockout face.

"Sir...wo editing team ne teen nayi manuscripts shortlist ki hain...pichle mahine pure saat aayi thi...aap bhi ek baar padh lijiye ki teeno theek hain ya inme se bhi select karne hain!" Rita spoke demurely.

"Teen aur?" he groaned. "Rakh do yahan pe...time hi nahi hai pata nahi har mahine itne lekhak kahan se aa rahe hain...purani bhi kaafi pending hain! Aaj main ghar jaldi jaa raha hun- time mila to kal Sunday ko baith ke ek do review kar lunga!"

"Ok sir!" Rita obliged and kept the stack of three manuscripts on the table and left the cabin.

Sameer closed his eyes and rubbed his face, vexed by a lack of attention on his part today. He realized today was not his day. "Maybe he should go for a movie this evening- that new one with Salman Khan and the gorgeous Aishwarya Rai!"

Sameer brought a ticket in the backrow of the huge Chanakya theatre and relaxed as "Hum Dil de Chuke Sanam" began rolling onto the screen.

Four hours later as Sameer drove back home, he cursed himself for his choice of movie- for all along the story, he couldn't help but find himself in Salman's shoes- he regretted it for the first time in life. To top his woes, Salman's character was named Sameer in the film. And in the end, the film's Sameer loses his girl to the husband. Just like Sameer Maheshwari had lost his Naina to Mr. Arvind.

He extracted the manuscripts he'd brought home to read on Sunday and slammed the car door shut. As he entered his house, Vishakha called him for dinner, but the movie had left a bitter taste in his mouth and fouled his appetite. "Bhook nahi hai!" he muttered as he made way into his room.

He freshened up and changed and then plopped down onto the bed, his hands supporting the back of his head. After the movie, he couldn't get sleep, for his thoughts were incessantly on Naina. He reached out to the stacks of fifteen manuscripts dumped in the to-be-reviewed pile, and pulled one out. In the process, one of them fell onto the floor- one of the three Rita had handed him today. Sameer bent down and picked up the fallen document.

"If Only I Had You!" by Mrs. Reena Mittal was printed on the first page of the typescript. Intrigued and looking for a hopefully happy ending to a romance, Sameer flipped to the second page and started reading the draft. His head was throbbing from the painful memories of his own past, coupled with the heartache of the film, yet something struck him uncanny in the writing. He went from page to page, his interest piqued at the captivating storytelling. As he kept reading, he sensed a strange familiarity in the style of writing. He turned back to the first page and cross-checked the name again.... 'Mrs. Reena Mittal...'. He tried to come back to reality. Of course, he was getting reminded of only her today, in everything he did. At 4.30 am in the morning, Sameer finished reading through the draft and decided to set up an appointment with the author next week itself.