Lotus Waters. Such an odd name for a river in which I have never seen a single lotus. Apparently the river surface used to be pink with lotuses. People from cities afar used to flood in to our little town to see them bloom. That was years ago though, even before my parent's time. Now its like any other river, dark and deep.

As I walked further, I passed by the old Baker's house. His son Roger was standing in their naturally green front lawn picking up the newspaper. He raised his arm, probably to wave at me, but I avoided eye contact and ignored him.

I liked the old baker. The whole area would be filled with the sweet smell of fresh bread and biscuits. There was a time I wanted to be a baker too. The chemistry of flour, beaten egg whites and baking powder., the sound of a crisp outside and soft inside when you cut through, the aroma of vanilla essence as the bread baked to perfection were something that had grabbed my heart at a young age. I had thought of learning under him, be an apprentice. But I hated his son.

His son, Roger, that asshole. Initially I used to think he was just curious. He used to hang around me asking questions. Then he began closing the distance between us. And then one day when we alone, sitting on the floor kneading flour, he graced my leg with his finger. Then he gave me a smile. I hate that smile. I was only twelve and he was 16. F**ker.

I knew something was wrong when he did it. It just made me feel so disgusted and irksome. That was the day I knew I had to keep distance from him. I should have slapped him then and there. But I didn't. And now it has been over twenty years. And that slap remains pending.

He had never apologized. I don't think he still accepts what he did as something wrong. He was sixteen. He definitely knew it wasn't right. I never told anybody about it. What could I say?

The baker's son grazed my leg with his finger once?

No one would have believed it was intentional. And even if they did, they would say that its not a big deal. That it's okay.

I never bothered about it anyway. It's in the past now.

He is married now. He had a grand wedding. Of course, he was the baker's son. His kid is ten years old now, I think. I have never met him and now there is no time. I wondered if his wife knows what kind of a man he is. I refuse to believe he ever changed. Every time I see his face, that smile he gave me that day, years ago, was the first thing that popped up before my eyes.

I hurried ahead, not wanting to be in his presence.