He typed, ‘Yes, but the ones I brought last time are still with Suresh.’

She laughed aloud and replied, ‘I think I deserve fresh flowers and a chocolate truffle cake.’

Madhav reached Radhika’s place late in the evening. He was in the front hallway when he saw her sitting at her study table. It was a dark, cosy space; dim yellow fairy lights adorned the wall. He walked towards her study and knocked on the door.

‘Is your main door usually open or did I just get lucky?’ he asked.

‘You are an exception,’ she said. ‘You can see the house as it is now and as it will be forever.’

She had beautifully painted her walls and decorated it with embossed mud art. Each corner of the house reflected her aesthetic sensibility. She was painting a portrait of a naked woman with a wild, happy expression on her face. The woman had a red sari draped around her head instead of her body and her arms were wide open.

‘What is this?’ Madhav asked.

‘Freedom, of a sort,’ she said. ‘She’s ready to fall in love.’

‘Looks interesting,’ he said and sat on a beanbag. ‘Are you going to paint the entire time I am here?’ he asked as he put on some light music.

‘Nope!’ she said and stood up. ‘We are going to dance.’

Madhav smiled and asked her about the reason for her sudden romantic behaviour.

‘I want us to pick up where we left off.’ She drew the curtains and switched off the main lights. A small lamp and the fairy lights softly illuminated the room. Madhav offered her the flowers. She elegantly took the bouquet and placed it in an empty vase. She then began to lightly sway to the music, almost as though she were dancing purely for herself. Madhav tried to decipher her mood. It occurred to him that her painting might just be a self-portrait. Radhika held his hand and put on an old Bollywood number ‘Ek ajnabee haseena se yun mulaqat ho gayi’.

‘This song pretty much sums up my situation,’ he whispered in her ear as she twirled on his finger held high above their heads. Madhav smiled at her and began singing along with the song. They danced for a while until he no longer felt restless.

‘What happened last night?’ he asked calmly, and Radhika paused.

‘Before I tell you anything, I want to share something with you.’ She rested her palm against his cheek. He instinctively knew that she was going to take a leap of faith and finally tell him why she had been so reticent.

‘Okay, of course, Radhika,’ he said as they sat by an open window. Radhika’s pink curtains billowed in the chilly breeze. She lit a small lamp and began her story.

‘It was seven years ago. I lived in London with my family. I was pursuing clinical social work and, as a part of the course, the professor asked us to prepare a few case studies. We visited different hospitals to talk to patients. I was just twenty-two then. One day, I met a guy named Christian. He was admitted to the local government hospital because he suffered from severe anxiety attacks. I took up his case. He was a young man who worked as an event manager in central London. We began to meet and talk several times a week—he would share his problems with me and I would listen intently. I was told that therapists are not supposed to forge personal relationships with their patients until they are cured, but I failed to listen. Christian and I became good friends. We would go out for dinner regularly and talk for hours. I would open up to him as well, once in a while. During this time, he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. He reacted in extremes; sometimes he was very happy and then extremely angry.