Time doesn't seem to move on quiet afternoons.

The sort of an afternoon, lazing at home, with no work, no house chores, with nothing important to do. Where everyone's out of the neighborhood. Or catching naps in bed. And the sun shines bright. No breeze. Only birds. A gentle clear day, when you can do anything, everything you want.

The clouds pasted on the sky still looked the same as when I stepped into her room.

Her standing fan shook its head slowly, from left to right and from right to left.

"So," she said, scratching the lobe of her ear, "why are you concealing your problem?"

I said nothing.

"Why the hell do you do it?" she asked. "Cheating yourself. When you could give so much more?"