It was one balmy Sunday afternoon, and Sanskaar Maheswari was at one of his favorite hangout spots...the church steps of Little Flowers, with Swara beside him, little Manu in his lap playing Candy Crush on his mobile phone, and the cacophony of two-dozen happy kids playing around them. He sat back, smiling to himself. He was most peaceful here, right here.

Sneha the sweet nerdy kid was on the steps above them with a drawing book and a handful of pencils. The remaining were on the new merry-go-round, the repainted slide, the swing set. The older kids were trying the basketball hoop- the latest addition to their playground, courtesy Sanskaar. Swara cast another look around the ground, and across it. The outbuildings, the boarding house, all had been repaired and repainted. Four months ago, the ground was empty but for the old, cracked stone slide...the buildings badly in need of repairs...Now everything was shiny and new. She turned to look at the man who made all this possible... he was happily teaching Manu to beat the computer at-Candy crush no doubt, the child's current favorite. She couldn't help the smile. He was such a darling, sitting here with his expensive jacket folded on the steps, letting the seven-year-old play with his high-end smartphone without a care in the world...

She surveyed the grounds again, and wondered how did he manage this feat. It was obvious that he was well paid - he was very generous in his gifts to the children, and he dressed exceptionally well. But the man drove an Eon. She very nearly giggled; expensive apparel, little car. Interesting contrast. And he had single-handedly brought Little Flowers back to life, he had shouldered all the expenses...So how well paid was the marketing manager of a big corporation? Or maybe he came from wealth and believed in earning his way. She felt that was obvious too; he was an earthy sort, hardworking. So what if almost everything about him spoke of quiet wealth, and of someone who was used to it; he was so grounded...and selfless and sweet.

He caught her staring off into space, her lips curved up in one of those mysterious smiles of hers. What was she thinking now?

"Hey," he waved a hand in front of her, bringing her attention back. "Kaha khoi hui ho?" He asked with a quizzical smile.

"Kahi nai," her smile softened; he was so oblivious to his own goodness.

He gave her a disbelieving look. "Batao kya hai."

"Kuch nahi Sanskaar, me bas-" she broke off, shielding her eyes from the sudden glare of sun against glass. "Wo kaun hai?" she turned to look, and he with her. A van had driven up to the compound gate. The sun was glinting off its chrome and windows; it had a satellite dish on top. "TV channel wale hai kya? Yaha kya kar rahe hai" she wondered out loud.

"I'll go check." He volunteered.

Swara smiled as he walked away. Good she didn't tell him. She had only just remembered one of her friends saying, that one must never ask a man how much he earned. Or a woman her age. Laughing quietly, she took Manu's hand and walked down the steps to join Sanskaar.

It was indeed a TV Channel, a popular news station at that. As he went down the steps, two of the crew stepped a ways off, one with a heavy duty camera and lightmeter, another pointing out angles.

"What do you think you are doing?" he asked the guy who was guiding the camera man. "You can't just show up and shoot a documentary. Did you check with the authorities?"

Swara stood at a distance few feet away from them, wondering the same thing. "Didi, ye log kaun hai? Movie wale hai?" Manu asked her.

"Ha beta. Ek minute," she patted the kid's shoulder and took a step closer to Sanskaar, ready to pounce at anyone who offended Sanskaar or her precious children.

"Hello. This is not a documentary," the guy turned to Sanksaar smiling.

Sanskaar's brows went up at the tone. "There is hardly anything newsworthy here, right now." He countered.

The media guy's smile sharpened by several more unpleasant degrees. "Oh, but you are, Mr. Maheswari."

For a moment, everything froze.

Behind him, Sanskaar heard Swara's gasp of shock.

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He turned to explain, but could find no words just then. The questions in her eyes... He began to reach out, take her hand, say something...

And they heard more vehicles coming up the road. Both of them turned towards the sounds. Two more news vans rolled in through the gates, and before either of them could get a word in, media crew spilled out of the vans and they were everywhere, everywhere! Flash lights and cameras and mikes, bland-faced camera men, eager directors of photography pointing out angles and shots, calling out instructions, giving pesky intros about orphanages and rich philanthropists, mikes thrust at little children on the merry-go-rounds...

They converged near the gates, where Sanskaar was standing.

Mikes and flashes here too, but he was used to these. He had handled press meets...he cast a glance towards the circus in the playground, worried about the kids. Media could be so nasty at times...

"Mr.Maheswari, are you hiding out here on this beautiful Sunday afternoon?" one voice came from the melee.

"Certainly not," he slipped his hands into his pockets, instantly switching to the regal Maheswari. "I have nothing to hide," the stance suited him, just as everything else did. Regal, mildly annoyed, and coolly civil.

Swara felt like she was watching someone else.

"Shouldn't you be at some club playing tennis or something?"

"Is that what you think every businessman does on lovely Sunday afternoons?" he countered, brows raised elegantly.

"They won't be spending the evenings at orphanages," another voice quipped.

In the background, they heard reporters prepping.

Swara heard snatches of others speaking into their cameras: "Sanskaar Maheswari, scion of Maheswari Group of industries, who has been missing from Mumbai's social scene for some time now, has resurfaced here, at this little orphanage in a little-known corner of Mumbai-"

Who were they talking about? The same Sanskaar who spent every free moment with her and these children, devoted so much time and effort to Little Flowers?

""the fact that the golden boy of Maheswari clan has a golden heart - "

Swara felt those words weighed like lead. Who were they talking about? He had not batted an eyelid during the transition from easy and friendly to this"this new person. She didn't know this cool aristocrat who handled media with such ease.

"Mr.Maheswari, is this part of your NGO project, which rolled out few months ago?"

"No it's not," he answered promptly. "That was CSR, something we needed to do as a company. This is personal."

"CSR?"

"Corporate Social Responsibility."

"But why keep it under wraps? This orphanage is not on the publicized lists of NGOs you support."

"I repeat, it's personal." He answered coolly, while his mind raced. How did these people know? Kunal would never...and their questions.

"And if we say it's a publicity stunt?"

"It's not." His voice had chilled, as had his eyes. Both were equally dangerous signs. The reporter who asked this drew back a little.

"Look around you, Mr.Maheswari. It certainly looks like one." This was the cynic from the beginning.

"Maheswari Group doesn't need to resort to such stunts for publicity. We have a solid brand name, and enough clout that you would consider us news-worthy," he said with something of a sneer for the cynic. "Besides, I don't get it. You people say corporations are money minded and profit oriented, and then if we try to do our bit for society we are publicity starved opportunists?"

"But Mr.Maheswari, we see your father at every other NGO you patronise, and you are here...jo aap keh rahe hai personal hai. In anaath bacho me apka kya personal interest hai?"

Little Manu tugged at Swara's hand and asked, "Didi, anaath kya hota hai?"

Swara felt her heart thud dully. What could she tell the child? Slowly, she bent to tell him as gently as she could, "beta wo log jinka koi nai hota."

Manu nodded, took her hand in his warm, chubby little one, "Matlab hume nai keh rahe." He spoke with conviction. "Humare itne sare log hai, Father hai, Sisters, aap aur Bhaiyya hai." Swara choked up hearing the last one.

Enraged, Sanskaar turned to that girl: "can you not read signs?" He pointed to the new sign board: Little Flower Angels' Home. "This is a home for children, God's children."

Swara was incensed, that he would try and defend the children. He felt like a stranger at the moment. Rich, snooty stranger who frequented clubs and did publicity stunts for goodwill as the media described him.

She stepped up to a mike saying "Ye bache anaath nahi hai. And they have sensitive ears. Mind your words please." Her tone could have frosted hell over. Sanskaar suddenly felt the weight of her accusations as he turned to look at her.

Cynic turned to her. "And you are?"

"I work here," she answered curtly, shot Sanskaar a look and turned to Manu. "Beta tum ander jao, Sneha ko bhi leke jana. Me abhi ati hu."

"Aap ne jawab nai diya." Same reporter asked again.

He turned to Swara. "Can you please bring Father Benedict?" he asked quietly. There was a plea in his eyes, that she found difficult to ignore, even as confused and hurt she was over this betrayal. Without a word, she went to fetch Father Ben.

He turned back to the reporter to answer. "A colleague of mine is a patron of this church," he decided to go with the truth. It was simplest. "I found I could do something for them, I decided to do it. That's all."

"Mr.Maheswari, is it true you were out here supervising building repairs early this year when you were supposed to be holidaying in California with friends..."

"My holiday plans are none of your business, but yes, I was here."

"But a high-flying Businessman like you? Aap kisi ko hire nai kar sakte the ?"

The cynic piped in for this one, "Maybe Mr.Maheswari thought these poor kids needed him here."

Sanskaar took one deep breath, switched gears again. "Yes, they did. And it's not about me, it's about them." He understood aggression wasn't going anywhere. Rather he could turn this around for Father Ben and Little Flowers. "They are not as privileged as any of us, and in so many ways," he went on smoothly. "what Father Benedict does for these children, it's beyond commendable."

"Ye Father Benedict hai?" one female reporter chimed in, pointing over his shoulder. He turned to see; Father Benedict was coming down the steps with Swara in tow.

Father Ben was all benign smiles and grace and quiet strength, and he glided into the interview with ease. Sanskaar spoke of the work they did, Father Ben and the nuns from the convent, and let Father Ben take over from them. He stepped back a little and called one of the elder kids, to help the gather the children together. He saw Swara was already doing that from the other end of the ground. And not one glance from her, or one word. He was being studiously ignored...

Across the ground, Swara and the older kids were herding the children on the slides and merry-go-rounds and see-saws. Some of the little ones seemed scared; most were fascinated by the camera lenses and mikes that came towards them. It was disconcerting to see the little ones facing the cameras. As disconcerting as it was to feel his gaze on her from where he stood by the gates. Ignoring it, she moved forward to get Rana, the child was hopping on and off the merry-go-round and had a media crew tacked on to him, asking him questions about God knew what. As she drew closer, she heard the boy answer in his five-year-old's lisp, "wo Sanskaar Bhaiyya hai, humare sath cricket khelte hai."

"Aur kya kya karte hai Sanskaar Bhaiyya?" the female reporter was amused.

"Aur..Aur chocolate lathe hai." He stopped to think. "aur..."

"Rana," Swara stepped up, snatched the child off the merry-go-round. "Beta in sabke sath andar jao tum. Dekho tumhara intezar kar rahe hai," she spoke quietly, firmly. The tone brooked no arguments. And Swara didi always had priority over fascinating cameras and new people. Rana ran off to join his friends who were being shepherded into the church. It was the closest shelter at the moment. Swara, the older kids and Sanskaar had all chosen to do so in tacit agreement.

"aap inhe janti hai?" the girl turned the mike to Swara, pointing at Sanskaar.

"Nahi," she answered without blinking, and went to get the children playing on the slides.

She didn't glance backwards, not at the reporter nor the subject of the reporter's questions. He was indeed a stranger to her. Publicity stunts? Was he that cold and calculative, in the face of these innocent children who loved him so much? She shut her eyes for a second, took a deep breath and ordered the children off the slides. She had to shield the children from the media and their mean questions. 'Anaath', how could they say that, and within earshot of those poor little children? And if he had brought these locusts here to prey on the children...she bit down on the hurt that went so deep, and the rage at those insensitive journalists, focusing on what needed to be done.

The grounds were almost clear- the kids were filing up the church steps obediently, Swara leading them in, older kids bringing up the rear. Sanskaar placed a hand on Father Ben's shoulder to indicate this.

Understanding him, Father Ben told the press they were done.

They asked him for a message. He said he wished there would be more kind-hearted souls who would have the sight to see these children, God's little angels.

He smiled again, and added, "Next time, please do not come in without letting us know." There was steel under the soft tone, and Sanskaar appreciated it. "Interview over," he stepped up to a mike and announced.

"Your comments, Mr.Maheswari?"

"None, thank you." He flashed them his professional smile, stepped back and walked away with Father Ben.

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He stepped out of the vestry, running a hand through his hair. At least Father Ben wasn't upset

He had apologized for the media circus, and promised he'd do anything he could to ensure it wouldn't happen again. Father Ben kindly told him at least they could get the message out to some people that there was a children's home here in this little known area of the city, and that all was fine. Told him not to worry, sent him off with a smile.

Now where was Swara? He pulled his phone out as he went looking for her, and dialed the office of a popular daily. He asked for Anjali Kaur when somebody answered, and waited with phone to his ear, even as he peeked into the little office the clerk kept. Swara habitually hung her bag in here on one of the pegs on the wall; it wasn't there. Where was this girl? He made his way out and across the foyer.

His friend came online as he started down the steps.

"Hi Sanskaar," Anjali Kaur's voice chirped in.

"Hi, Angie," he knew she preferred being called that. "I need a favor."

"Anything for you, sweetheart," he could almost see her wink. Angie was such a good sport. And one of his valued friends in the media. "How was the blitz by the way? I heard the whole town was there," she said mildly, a smile in her voice.

He stopped in his tracks. "You knew about that?!"

"Hey the info came from your office," she stopped, too. "Baat kya hai Sanskaar. Was this against your wishes? Is there a leak?" she asked dubiously.

"It seems there is," he said slowly. "I had not asked for anything of this sort."

"Oh, I believe you," she knew he wasn't into gimmicks and stunts. "what do you want me to do?"

He told her; she agreed readily. He had a leak to plug, and she was going to help him do that. And after, There would be no more media blitzes like this one. There was nothing in their world that Angie didn't know; she had her finger on every pulse.

"Thanks, Angie. I owe you." He said earnestly as he entered the children's boarding house.

"So what do I get?" she teased.

"The next exclusive from my camp," he promised.

She laughed. "Bye, handsome."

"Bye, Angie." He slipped the phone in his pocket. He could count on her. Anjali "Angie" Kaur was good for her word. And he could keep his promise to Father Ben.

Now where was Swara? He couldn't see her anywhere, or hear her voice. He couldn't help this feeling of dread that was creeping in when he couldn't...

He spotted Sister Nancy leading Rana and some other kids from the cafeteria, and walked up to her to ask. "Sister apne Swara ko dekha?"

"Sanskaar Bhaiyya, Didi ghar chali gai." Rana volunteered the info cheerfully.

Ghar? Without a word she went home?

His dread took on new proportions at that.

"Sanskaar, tum thik ho?" Sister Nancy asked gently. He nodded, said his byes and came out.

She went home? He had to talk to her...

Not wanting to wait another second, he jogged to his car.

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He drove straight to her apartment... not only was she not there, he had not seen any auto or cab coming up this route on his drive here... and she was not answering his calls...a little worried, he set out for her college library. It was only a walking distance away from her flat. He made the distance in five minutes, parked the car and went in to check.

And came out in five more...she was not there. He tried her number again, truly worried now. Where was she...? "Come on Swara, pick up," he said as the tone buzzed in his ear. He had no idea what she was thinking. He knew she was upset, but so much she wouldn't speak to him at all? He dialed again, hoping she would pick up. Dusk was falling...

He got back in his car, and made a circuit of the whole area. The park nearby, the gift shop, back to the library-they were closing up when he returned- back to her building. The watchman confirmed she wasn't back yet.

And she hadn't answered his calls either.

He considered texting her- then kept the phone back on the dashboard. He didn't know what to write. He hadn't exactly lied to her, but lying by omission was akin to lying...he should have told her. He couldn't figure out why he never did.

A glance out the window only furthered his anguish...it was getting dark...

Feeling the weight of her silence and his own guilt, he parked the car and went to sit on the stone bench inside the compound. She would come home...if nothing, he had to know she was home safe. She had to come soon...

A little past 7, he was still seated on the stone bench, their stone bench, waiting for her to come home. Long past playtime, the grounds were deserted, the inmates and their children all holed up in their flats. Occasionally a car or auto would drive up, and he'd turn to look. Every time he did, it was yet another working class resident home from his/her office. Every one of them was haggard and tired from a day's work, and so nobody turned to look at this lone, solitary figure who kept his vigil on the stone bench by the park.

The night watchman let him be, though he cast furtive glances that way. He knew the boy, and who he was waiting for. Familiar figure around here, and a respectable one, had dropped the girl home many times over the past few months. Still, he looked that way every now and then. It was his job to do so.

Half past 8, an auto rattled up the drive, and Swara stepped out and into the pool of yellow light cast by the lamp at the gatepost. The watchman took one cautious step closer as he saw Sanskaar rise.

She paid the driver off and turned. She froze in place, her gaze riveted to the figure by the stone bench. It looked like... Sanskaar.

He stepped forward, phone in hand. She looked down at hers. Twenty missed calls and one unread text. It clicked open by mistake as she swiped it away, and she was forced to read it: "where are you? Are you safe?" she looked up, met his eyes.

He thought his heart had stopped, the minute he had seen her tear-streaked face. She had been crying...! Appalled he had made her cry, guilt overpowering the relief that she was safe, he reached out to her, one hand raised. All he could say was her name. "Swara..."

Hardly a whisper, it carried to her on the cool night breeze, across the space between them. She didn't utter a word, but her eyes...Her eyes shouted distrust, and hurt, and pain...so much pain.

He understood then, the terrible weight of betrayal she felt.

A single tear spilled over, rolled down. She swiped it away, furious even her tears betrayed her. Wordlessly, she turned and walked away.

He stood there, feeling his heart weighed like lead. Her eyes...she had sliced at him without uttering a syllable, and he could only stand and watch...

He waited until she was safe under the glow of lights, until she reached the lift and pressed the button, got in.

Then he walked back to his car, put the key in. And pulled it back out. Giving in to the exhaustion, he laid his head on the steering wheel. Eyes open, eyes closed, all he could see was her tear-streaked face, under the harsh glow of lamplight...the million questions in them, and her pain...his pain...and

Swara...