In the middle of the night, I come out of the house with a soft squeak of the door. The scent of the garden greets me — the one that only comes out at night, a mix of jasmine and lime, transporting me to the ancient gardens of the Mughal Court.
The wet grass feels soft under my feet. My eyes look for the lamp, up there in the sky. But the moon is gone until tomorrow and I have no matches. The light of my heart’s flame does not reach that far.
I walk and I stumble on the basket. The one you left behind. The one filled with pieces of ribbon of multiple colours. All the ribbons are tied in knots. It will take me a long time to undo them, just like the ones you left in my heart.