Afterwards, Ishita was to wonder just when and how they had slipped into that easy camaraderie, just when they had declared a truce to their previous uneasy relations.

He had stayed close to her in the kitchen, insisting she give him directions while he did most of the work. She had decided on a menu of aloo parathas and channa daal, and he had fished up all the necessities from the pantry, then helped her to peel and chop.

He had kneaded the paratha dough for her, rolled out some surprisingly round parathas and watched intently while she stirred the dhal in the pot. He had told her stories about learning to cook with Mihir in Mumbai, and had listened intently to her stories about having to learn to like punjabi food during her college days.

From food they had moved onto work stories, he about his PR agency, and she about her dental practice.

She hadn't noticed before that his eyes crinkled when he smiled ( but then she had never seen him smile); that his one liners were funny when they weren't directed at her - instead, his barbs today were all directed towards himself, and she realised that he had a very self deprecating sense of humor.

He realised that she was a very intelligent and well read woman, quick to get the point, compassionate to the extreme about her little patients, but not one to suffer fools easily. He had known that she was strong and pigheaded but he had not realised how much compassion was hidden behind that strength. It was evident in the way she spoke about her patients and his Ruhi.

They had set the table together, then sat down to dinner together.

Their conversation had continued over their leisurely dinner.

They had avoided the difficult topics - his ex wife, her infertility, his relationship with Ruhi, their families - instead, they had continued with their earlier discussions about food and work.

Ishita learnt that Raman loved Italian food. She gleaned from his stories how ambitious and driven he was, which wasn't a surprise to her. She also learnt about the volunteer work he did for charities, especially for girl children, which was a surprise.

She realised that this man was not the dour loud drunk Punjabi jerk she had taken him to be - yes he was rude, short tempered, infuriating - but those were just some of his many layers and behind the layers lay a heart of gold.

With dismay, she realised that she liked this man, that they could even be friends.

Raman learnt that Ishita loved her South Indian food; that she had never drunk alcohol, from her reaction when he offered her a glass of wine (She: "No, I don't drink, I never have, but you were being Dr Bhalla, so how come you're offering alcohol to someone with head trauma" He: "but I told you that you have no brains to damage")

He realised that this woman was not the neurotic bitter troublemaker he had taken her to be, her fussing and her interfering, her lectures were all because of her heart of gold. He had accepted last night that he desired her, now, with dismay, he realised that he liked this woman, that they could even be friends.

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Ishita excused herself after dinner, since Raman insisted that he would clean up. She returned to the kitchen after showering and changing into the oversize pjs he had given her the night before, to see their dinner dishes dumped into the sink and everything piled haphazardly everywhere.

"So this is his idea of cleaning up" she sighed, as she turned on the taps and threw dollops of washing up liquid into the sink, ignoring the gleaming dishwasher. "It's good to be doing something" she thought as she washed, cleaned and wiped down the counters.

Ishita always used housework to help herself focus, but right now, the thought, the person, occupying her mind was someone she didn't want to think about.

Half an hour later, the kitchen sparkling clean, she wandered out to the living room, wondering where Raman was.

He was sitting on the floor by the electric fireplace, his back against a sofa, his feet stretched out before him. An empty bottle of wine lay beside him, another, half full, was on the side table nearby.

Ishita pursued her lips in annoyance. A drink with dinner was fine, but did he have to get drunk like this all the time? She remembered how drunk he had been on the night of the CEO dinner, and the hungama that had followed. Well, she didn't want a repeat of all that, especially when they were alone here, and she had better let him know that.

"What a let down" she thought to herself. "He had seemed like a different man this afternoon, but I guess this is his real face"

She squared her shoulders and walked up to him, her stockinged feet silently sinking into the plush wool carpet.

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"Ra..." Ishita had started to call out to him, but the sight before her caused her voice to dry up.

Raman was staring unseeing into the fire, tears coursing down his face. His shoulders were heaving with his silent tears, his hands caressing the display on his phone.

"Raman" Ishita dropped to her knees beside him, her anger forgotten, her heart twisting at the pain in his face. "Raman, kya hua aap ko? What's wrong? Please tell me. Kyun aap aise..? Raman?"

He did not register her presence and Ishita laid a hand gently on his shoulder. "Raman" she repeated softly.

He looked up then, his eyes bloodshot, seemingly not comprehending her presence for a few seconds. Then she could see the realisation dawning in his eyes as he hastily wiped his face with the back of his hands.

"Ishita, I thought you'd gone to bed" his voice was husky, his words slurred. "Kya hua? Are you okay, do you need something."

"Raman, I'm fine. Mujhe kuch nahi hua. Lekin aap...aap toh theek ho na? Aapko kya hua?" (Nothing is wrong with me. But you... Are you all right? What... what's wrong?")

"Nothing" he pushed against the sofa, trying to get up, but then subsided, dropping his head into his hands. "Nothing" he repeated.

"Raman, please, you've helped me so much since yesterday. Can't we be friends? Can't you let me help you? Please tell me what's wrong. Mujhe... Mujhe darr lagta hai aap ko aise dekh kar Raman." ( It scares me to see you like this Raman)

Ishita put one hand on his shoulder as she spoke, the other gently touching his hair. He reminded her so much of Ruhi at this moment, the same vulnerability, the same mannerisms.

Raman slowly uncovered his face and raised his eyes to her. He looked at her with Ruhi's eyes and the anguish in those eyes pierced straight through her heart. Ishita could no longer remember how or why she had hated him. All that she knew was that he was in pain and that she could not bear it. She opened her arms and held on to him, until he snuggled into her, his tears starting afresh. She tightened her arms around him, whispering reassurance as he cried brokenly. She could not make out what he said, only the words Ruhi, Adi and Shagun, repeated over and over, were recognisable to her.

She did not know how long she held him, her arms aching, her heart overflowing and her eyes crying for him, with him. Finally, he was quiet and she realised that he had fallen asleep in her arms, emotionally spent and exhausted.

Ishita pulled down the cushions from the sofa and then carefully let him down, cradling his head in the cushions. She then went to his room and brought his duvet and pillows and made him comfortable.

Then as he had done the previous night, Ishita sat herself down on the sofa facing him, to watch over him the night through.

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"And tears came before the could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on his face, and what was the point in wiping them off, or pretending? He let them fall."
- J.K.Rowling "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

"And then I did what I had never done in his presence, much less in his arms. I cried."
- Erich Segal "Love Story"