Kiran paced his room, hoping Sara was only trying to surprise him and would call out to him from below any moment now. He leaned out every now and then to see if she was there, but was merely waving without calling him loudly enough, but to no avail.

He regretted assuming she had chosen to abandon him for telling her that 'The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society' book was only a so-so book, especially when she liked it a lot. Thankfully, they both liked Hemingway, Joseph Heller and Ray Bradbury and so, one book couldn't drive a wedge between them.

What's keeping her so long? Oh! Oh! he exclaimed, what if her parents found out about us? What if they have locked her up in a room for being in love with me? What if they are shipping her off to some foreign land that I can't afford to get to, so they can systematically erase her memories of our time together and get her married to some well-off boy? A chill ran up Kiran's spine as he thought such morbid, apocalyptic thoughts. Although he knew heroes always found love in a post-apocalyptic world, he was keen on not going that far. And, he was no hero.

Only one way to find out, he resolved and stepped out of his house that was the room. Before he secured the latch and locked the house, he checked his phone's messenger once again.

The display still showed nothing, but a terse, 'Sara is responding,' notification.

Kiran sighed. Is this perpetually blinking cursor the precursor to a terrible life of loneliness and despair? He despaired, so he would get used to it eventually. Kiran's heart beat like that very cursor - rhythmically, desperate to know what was in store, waiting for Sara to type something.

Kiran was someone who was very keen on planning everything ahead of time. The moment he decided he would ask for Sara's hand in marriage, he bought a double cot, a four-burner stove, a nice broom and then this studio apartment. He started learning how to be the man of the house by signing up for a sweeping and mopping course. And so, he despaired.

She started responding and then stopped abruptly, he wondered why. His instincts told him something was terribly wrong. He walked out, helmet in hand, stopping only briefly to evade the owner of his apartment whom he owed money.