Hashwini glared at the view count on her blog—51. It had remained frozen at 51 for the last 48 hours. Surely her blog would have gone viral by now? That was her best article yet!

The Night Little India Burned After I Lit the Match.

The title of the post was superimposed over the cover picture, the selfie in which she was wearing a look of alarm and dismay as a torched vehicle burned fiercely in the background. Hashwini wished she had erased Kaustubh from the picture before she had posted it but she was hopelessly handicapped when it came to the technicalities of photo editing. There he was at the left margin, looking into the camera and flashing a victory sign with two fingers. What was the nincompoop thinking? He had absolutely destroyed the photo.

Hashwini wondered if it was worth the trouble to edit the photo and repost it. She might not know how to do it, but Euu Ki would. Flaming diva that he was, Euu Ki was surprisingly proficient in the art of photo editing.

Are you at the casino? Need to chat.

Euu Ki’s texted reply came almost immediately.

Shift ended. Just finished shower.

Cuddling with Mr Big?

Mr Big was really Estelito Agcaoili Lasa, a casino pit manager from the Philippines. But Euu Ki fancied himself to embody the spirit of Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City, and Estelito Agcaoili Lasa naturally took on the moniker of Mr Big once the two became an item.

Big still at work. You can call me.

“My blog article is not getting new hits. I need to improve the photo. Can you help me?”

Hashwini could hear Euu Ki emit an exaggerated sigh. An image of him delicately touching his forehead with the back of his hand popped into her mind when she heard him say, “Sweetie, I don’t know how to tell you this but…this is as good as it will get. You’ve maxed out your viewership.”

“But you’ve read my article, right? It’s an excellent piece and it drives me crazy that only 51 people have read it!”

“Sweetie, you know I love your writing. But you’re clueless about blogging. When you post on social media, your piece has got to scream like a drag queen on Ecstasy. Unless you learn to strut your stuff on the catwalk, no one is going to pay any attention even if you have boobs and buns to rival Kim Kardashian. And believe me, that catwalk is crowded.”

“Then help me.”

“I don’t know… Is it really worth the effort?” There was no attempt to hide the boredom in his voice.

“Okay, I am going to wave the magic eyeliner brush.”

“Already?” There was a dramatic gasp of astonishment. “You only get to wave it three times, you know?”