A dying winter Sun had hushed the land below to sleep but on the bridge that spanned the backwaters Saira stood wide awake in stillness. Transfixed like a little girl caught in headlights; eyes captivated by the water currents far below. She watched the water that rushed unquestioningly on in its blind search for an ocean’s dark but welcoming shroud. By eleven in the night, it was almost graveyard silent. But she stood there lost in thought. The slight breeze rustled through her hair and her long flared kurta moved along. This was all she needed that night or maybe any night. Her body and soul braced forlorn on the wrong side of the railing. Suddenly a voice shattered the silence and with it went any semblance of peace she might have had. Saira nearly jumped out of her skin, for she’d not seen or heard a soul for a long while now. 'Steady on mate,' said the voice, ‘didn’t mean to make you jump.' She gripped the railings...