Day 10: Love, Longing And Everything Between

It's the end, almost, of another lazy Sunday afternoon on Amma and Appa's patio, the jungle outside a riot of greenery.

We are lying, Him and I, cradled against each other in the chaise lounge, a daybed for all it's size. The air is still, but for a fan whirring noisily in another corner and the slow curls of mosquito incense undulate towards the ceiling as a prayr to the heavens.

The chirruping of cicadas herald the early evening even as the light changes, fades, slowly from yellow to orange, then a sudden calm blue. Our magazines have fallen between us, his Jane's Defense Guide and my Economist a tangled heap of paper, limp with the heat of the afternoon just past, the jug of iced tea on the stand sitting in a puddle of it's own perspiration. Our skin a contrast of light and dark.

I watch him sleep, mouth ajar, reading glasses askew, hair mussed and stubble shadowing. A slow tenderness, the same as always, rises. There is the sigh of my heart, as I press my lips to his temple, now flecked with grey. I flick my sari pallavi over him, to keep him safe from the ravening mosquitos before I give myself over to sleep utterly, the slightest of smiles curving my lips.

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