all day aritra dealt with it like a man. that is to say, he acted like it did not exist, except as a vague nameless irritation, that underlined random small acts like throwing the wood on the floor with forcefulness. then at night finally, when he had crawled into bed, all the memories & pain crept back. and he cried. was there a place inside that tears came from? why did they never run out? aritra the strong, had turned away from life itself to be a scholar. he was strong. yet she could break him so easily, everytime, to her he was just a toy. why was it so easy for her? and so hard for him to walk away from from her callous laughter? why did his helplessness, his pain amuse her? everytime he thought he had found some peace, everytime he thought he could forget her and get back to work, her voice, and her laughter, rang out again. why did it hurt so much each time? he knew urvashi was a dancer, he had always known. why did it keep hurting? it was because he loved her. and love is like a cancer, a disease, a pain that imprisons forever. love is like a spider web. you can not see it till you walk into it. and then you can break it, but traces of it will linger on your face, in your memory. if you have really loved, you will never be free