Every time there was a power outage at night, they'd climb the roof of their house and lay on the bricked roof watching the stars. They'd count stars and compete for the largest number. Sometimes they'd sit and make shapes out of the stars while he smoked his cigarette and she would cough from time to time from the smoke but remained too busy with the stars to care. Sometimes she'd put her tiny head on his lap, at other times on his shoulder. Some days they'd find a shooting star and her eyes would light up with excitement. Its been a while since she have seen a shooting star now. She has almost forgotten how that feels like.
There was a little sort-of-a restaurant around the corner, dhaba, they call it there and late at night, the owner of the place would play old romantic classical songs - sometimes Ghazals, sometimes some filmy numbers. It was comforting whenever they could hear the sound of that dim melodious music. Sometimes he would sing along, sometimes he'd listen to it quietly - lost in his own thoughts while she'd wonder what to make of it. At other times they both would try to figure out which song it was or who was the singer. There were days when they would fall asleep on the roof because it was too dark and too hot to go downstairs, and she wouldn't realize when she fell asleep in his arms until the sun rays woke her up the next morning.
But that was before the nightmares worsen. Somehow those were simpler days - before it all turned black.
-omi
