She likes things to have meaning. She is used to a clock in every room at her house and the absence of it here is almost a wilful suspension of time.

Today I chopped it into tiny pieces along with a large tomato, a capsicum, four large green chilies because I need spice back in my life, and a large onion. I threw a generous knob of butter in the frying pan and tempered it with whole cardamom, cinnamon, cloves and a pinch of dried fenugreek leaves.

These two micro-fictions explore two shades of desire and the agentic self that explores both simply, earnestly.

The two of them, with their own longings, stared out into the void. She felt some of the ink leech out of her, dripping out, thick and metallic, and dissipate into the darkness beyond.