Love

Shruthi has been yelling at Ram all through their short journey. She sat behind him, holding onto the side bar for grip, careful not to touch him, her decibel level increasing with every additional meter covered. For the 60 minutes since, he hasn’t spoken, anger choking his words. And she hasn’t kept quiet.

Momentary silence. She wonders if it’s the three year itch.

There is a speed breaker and the vehicle suddenly jumps and lands again on the road.

 “Ah” she says tying not to shout.

“Are you alright?” – he asks instinctively, breaking his hour long silence.