Raman stretched out and then winced as his hand struck something hard just to his left. He opened his eyes slowly, adjusting to the dim light streaming in from the massive picture windows that took up the entire North wall of the living room.

He sat up slowly, slightly disoriented, as he made out the fact that he was lying on the carpet in the living room, a duvet covering him. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he made out the outline of someone half sitting and half lying in the sofa just ahead of him.

Ishita!! He looked at her with bewilderment and then with dawning recollection. Last night. The memories came flooding back.

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He had really enjoyed the dinner with Ishita. The conversation, the food, her company had all taken him back into a happy time, a time when he was just Raman, an ordinary family man but a contented man and not the Raman Kumar Bhalla, the man about town, the driven CEO for whom money, position and power had taken over as the driving forces of his existence.

Ishita's simplicity and her honesty had forced him to respond with his true inner voice. And that had led to introspection.

After Ishita had left the table, he had cleared up and then moved to the living room with his wine and his thoughts and memories. He could not recollect how much he had drunk, just that he was deep into the memories of his shattered dreams when she had come to him. He remembered now how he had broken down in her arms, had sobbed like a babe, and how she had held him and comforted him.

In all these years since Shagun had left, Raman had closed himself off from displaying his emotions.

He cried, but only when he was alone, only in the sanctuary of his lonely bed.

Even Mihir had never been privy to these bouts of despair, when tears would wrack through him, when all the could-have-beens and might-have-beens of life tortured him through the night.

He had shut out his family, isolated himself from his friends.

And yet last night he had allowed her a glimpse, nay more, he had let her look, at his naked broken soul, had grabbed greedily at the comfort she offered.

He had been drunk but not so drunk that he did not remember the calmness he felt in her arms, the relief to finally let his tears be wiped by a caring hand, the certainty with which he had known that he was safe in displaying his vulnerability to her, that he was safe in her arms.

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He got up slowly, then stood gazing at her sleeping form for a moment. Then gently dropping the duvet over her, he walked away to his bedroom.

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It was almost an hour later when Ishita stirred awake.

Like Raman, she woke slightly disoriented as to where she was, then the memories of the previous night came back to her. She pushed off the duvet covering her, frowning as she remembered covering him with the same the night before.

He was nowhere in sight and Ishita walked off to her bedroom, her mind churning as she reflected on the night before.

She had no idea what had lain behind those tears of his, only that she had never seen anyone in such despair, in such pain.

His pain reminded her of her own, when Subbu had left her after her collapse at their engagement.

She had dealt with her pain with tears just like these - tears which ran rivers of cold despair down her cheeks, which threatened to wrench out her heart as she realised that her long cherished dream was over. But she had cried her tears in the safe arms of her mother and sisters, not alone. She had cried it all out and had resolved to never cry again.

And even though it still hurt when Subbu's mother and others referred to her infertility, calling her baanj, she had resolved not to let their negativity define her life.

And so slowly she had shed her bitterness and her sadness and had immersed herself into her family and her little patients.

And then she had met Ruhi and had discovered a whole new dimension to her life. The only thing that had been missing was romance, the love of a man. But she had convinced herself that romance was something that was just not in her fate. And it had not been difficult, for she had never felt any attachment for any man, had never felt any attraction.

Until now.

She did not know what it was that drew her to him, but last night, when she held Raman in her arms, as he had cried himself to sleep in her embrace, she had felt as if she was home, as if pieces she had not even known were missing had finally fit in and completed her.

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Raman was still nowhere to be seen when Ishita walked into the kitchen after showering and changing.

Her limited wardrobe meant that she had again donned her snug black wool pants, teamed with the souvenir t-shirt she had bought for Vandu akka, a bright red with a pattern of little kiwis embossed at the front. The central heating meant that the house was a warm 24 degrees, and so Ishita had not worn a sweater.

She made some coffee, noticing as she did that the kitchen was still as spotless as she had left it the night before. Having seen Raman cooking and his so called cleaning up the night before, the cleanliness of the kitchen told her that he had not breakfasted, had not had any tea.

Pouring the filter coffee into two mugs, she carried it into the living room, expecting to see him there. But the living room was empty. She stood frowning, wondering whether to check his room, when a gust of cold air enveloped her. She frowned and looked towards the source of the icy breeze, noticing as she did that one of the French doors was open.

Ishita put the mugs down on a side table and moved towards the door.

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The snow had stopped falling overnight, leaving behind a frozen white tableau. Everything was white as far as the eye could see - the frozen lake in the foreground, the Southern Alps majestic in the distance. Snow was piled on the huge tress surrounding the property and on the roofs of the chalet and it's outbuildings.

Snow was banked on the sides of the house as well, effectively imprisoning them inside. Raman was standing some ten metres away, in the middle of the paved path leading from the house to the Lake. Those ten metres had been cleared of snow and he was even now busy shovelling more snow from the path.

He was wearing a grey t-shirt and track pants, a sweater tied loosely around his slim hips, sunglasses covering his eyes. His face was stubbly, as though he had not shaved, and his muscles rippled as he dug the shovel into the virgin snow, scooping, then throwing to the side.

Ishita stood just outside the door, mesmerised, watching him. The zero degree temperature raised goosebumps on her bare arms and turned her cheeks red.

As if aware of her scrutiny, he turned slightly, sticking the shovel in the snow and resting one arm on it, as he slowly removed his sun shades with the other.

She held his gaze and walked up to him.

"Kya kar rahe ho Raman?" (What are you doing Raman?)

"Tumhe kya lagta hai madrassan?" (What do you think, madrassan?)

Ishita gasped.

"What did you call me?"

Raman's face coloured as he smiled sheepishly.

"Did I say that aloud? It's what I always call you in my mind"

"You mean you think about me?" She asked in wonder.

Raman coloured again and fidgeted with his glasses.

"It's cold Ishita, why aren't you wearing a sweater? Beemar ho jaogi "(You"ll get sick)

Ishita glanced down at her bare arms, then looked up at Raman again.

"Kaun ho tum? Who are you?" She asked.

Raman shook his head in bemusement. "Delayed amnesia ho gaya kya? (Do you have delayed amnesia) What do you mean, who am I?"

Ishita grabbed at Raman's arm, holding it firmly with hers.

"I mean who are you? You're not the same man I know from India, the man who delights in insulting and taunting me and my family. The man who makes his little daughter long for his time and affection. You're not that man. You're so caring, so different. So who are you?"

Raman looked at her hand on his, then looked at her intently.

"I'm sorry Ishita" his voice was low and husky and it pulled at her heart strings.

"Why?"

"I'm sorry for all the things I've done and said to you. I'm sorry for what you saw last night. The man you know in India Ishita, is the man that life has made me. The man you met here is the man I used to be. I don't know why, or how, but you make me want to go back to being the man I used to be. And I obviously can't cope with that."

"What happened to you Raman? Why are you always do angry with the world?"

"It's a long story Ishita. And it's something I don't like taking about." He looked away and put his shades back on, before turning to face her again, his eyes now hidden. "Look, you really will get sick. Go back inside the house."

Ishita could sense the shutters coming back on, and she did not want to push him.

"Raman, I'm tired of being cooped up inside. Can't I help you? Then we might be able to walk up to the lake later"

He smiled at her. "Itna snow clear karlogi?" Acha theek hai. Tum jao humaare liye coffee banao, mein ek extra shovel laata hoon." (Will you be able to clear all this snow? Ok, fine. You go and make us some coffee, and I'll go get you an extra shovel"

She smiled and started to walk away.

"And Ishita" he called out "Make sure you put on a sweater"

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They worked contentedly together for the rest of the morning clearing snow from the path. Ishita made sure that she kept up a continuous supply of coffee, and the warm drinks and their physical exertions kept them warm in the cold winter morning.

They kept each other entertained with stories of their school days. Tentatively, they brought up their families as well. Ishita learnt about the protectiveness of the loud and abrasive Mrs Bhalla, while Raman was surprised to find out that the equally loud and annoying Mrs Iyer was a science graduate and an accomplished Carnatic singer. They laughed together about their gentle yet silent fathers, who never seemed to be able to get a word in edgewise.

When it was time for lunch, he insisted on helping her, cutting tomatoes while she toasted bread, passing her the ingredients she asked for, laughing at her pouts at his attempt to clear up.

After lunch, he decided to check his emails and do some work, while Ishita pored over some old recipe books she had found in the kitchen, hoping to find some Italian recipes that she could make for Raman.

She was still busy looking at the recipe books when Raman walked into the living room with his laptop.

"There's an email from Mehta's properties manager" he said as Ishita smiled up at him. "Now that the storm is over, the roads are being cleared. They should be able to reach here by late tomorrow or early the next day."

Ishita's smile stayed fixed on her face although the news that she would be able to leave this place, and him, soon, did not cause any excitement or happiness to her. To the contrary, a shiver of regret and something else, something she could not identify, coursed through her.

"Why so soon?" Her treacherous heart asked.

"That's great Raman" she said aloud.

He looked intently at her.

"Yes, isn't it just. Chutkara mil jayega tumse" he said quietly (I'll be able to be free of you")

Then "Paagal madrassan" he added under his breath.

"I heard that" she responded, her fake smile replaced by a real one. "Kadwa Punjabi"

"Woh toh hoon" he said with a laugh. "Acha pehchaana." ( That I am. You recognised me well)

He was walking away when she stopped him.

"Raman, can I just borrow your laptop to check my mail. You know I left my phone in the hotel room for charging and I haven't been able to check anything."

"Of course" he said handing over the laptop to her. "Pehle kyun nahi pucha?" ( Why didn't you ask before?)

He grabbed the remote and started flipping channels as she quickly logged into her emails.

"Oh that's so sweet" she exclaimed, making him look up.

"Kya?" (What?) He asked.

"Ruhi sent me an email. Listen na, she says hello Ishita aunty. I miss you so much. Have you bought my presents? Love, Ruhi. Presents she has spelt as presence. Isn't that sweet."

"Let me see" he jumped up from his seat and perched on the arm of her sofa, his arm brushing against hers as he held on to the screen, eagerly scanned the display.

"Look, she writes so well, " he said proudly. "Only one spelling mistake. Whose email account is it? Rinki's? Then Ruhi must've written this herself, Rinki ko toh spelling aata hi nahi" ( Rinki can't spell at all)

Ishita stared at him, deeply conscious of him so close to her, his arm brushing hers, his elbow grazing her chest. He looked at her intently, aware of her sudden silence, then abruptly moved away, moving back to his seat and fidgeting with the remote again.

Ishita knew she had not imagined the pride and love in his voice and his eyes for Ruhi. This man was an enigma. He loved his daughter, she was sure of that, but why then did he show her such indifference. She would find out tonight, she decided. She would ask him. It was the least she could do for her little Ruhi.

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Monday you sent me flowers
Tuesday made me feel stupid

Wednesday the world was ours
Thursday you didn't prove it
Friday fell back in love
Saturday we didn't talk
Sunday you needed space

Do you miss me? Am I crazy?
Am I losing hold of your love baby?
Either you want me or you don't.
I need to know I need to know

Who are you today?
Will you be the sun
or the pouring rain?
Who are you tomorrow?
Will you make me smile
Or just bring me sorrow?
Which are you gonna be
When I'm lost and I'm scared?
Who are you gonna be?
When there's nobody there
Who are you today?
Cause I'm still the same

Fifth Harmony.