“They sat. Hands held. Five minutes. The Chor Bazaar clock counted. And in the silence — the warm silence, the silence that had first appeared the night Chirag came back to the bed — they looked at each other. Not the glances of cohabitation — the morning glance, the dinner glance, the passing-in-the-corridor glance. The actual look. The look that requires: time. And courage. And the willingness to be seen by the person who knows you best and therefore can hurt you most.”