The day rests blanketed in the warm hues of golden yellow, orange and crimson and so do I. At the back of my head there is a constant throbbing, ignorable but brought to full awareness with each gust of the cool evening breeze blowing in through the open doors of the balcony.

I watch the potted plants sway rhythmically, the wind bringing in the miscellaneous fragrances of the flowers, some fully bloomed, some still buds and some of the nocturnal blossoms waiting to bloom until night falls in. I turn on the bed, my hand unconsciously reaching to touch the other pillow beside the one on which my head rests now.

The shadows have changed their positions, now darkness starts to set in. I need to switch on the lights of the house but I choose instead to clutch the pillow tighter. I don't understand why people are always competing and thriving to outrun one another in the mad race we have created.

It amazes me how we even can't seem to live without it now. We call it being productive but when this becomes a productivity contest are we still doing the right thing clinging on to this self imposed pain. This makes me wonder if some pain is hard to live without, or becomes so inextricably woven into the fabric of our lives that we don't know what to do otherwise.

Some of the bela (Arabian jasmine) flowers have started to open their tender white petals, I can smell their intoxicating scent wafting through the room, even if I can't see them clearly. Yet I don't move.

These little snatched moments of tranquil idleness are like tridents ready to kill the strains and taxations of the day. I sense the side of the bed sink, the corner of my lips tug up involuntarily. I turn around and an equally wearied but loving smile meets me. I smile wider. The serenity is complete.