As I turned my car into the driveway, I saw my mother standing by the open door of our little bungalow. She smiled slightly as I got out. But her eyes quickly left mine and scanned the bus stop across the road.

 The fast-changing colours of the blue expanse gently reminded me that the Sun had wrapped up its work for the day. I gently prodded a frail Amma to come inside.

 We settled down after a delicious dinner served by Kamala, our live-in maid cum cook.

 Today, Amma initiated the conversation with a love story…..

 “I saw them again today. The boy and the girl. The skies opened up suddenly as she got down from the bus. He was waiting for her, a lone traveller in this damp weather. The girl’s salwar-kameez stuck to her skin. She inched closer to the boy under the pretext of taking shelter under his umbrella. They stood close, petrichor wafting in the breeze that ran askew in this erratic weather.

 I listened intently. Her eyes sparkled with love and joy in the light. The creases lining her face ironed out, and she turned fifty years younger than her seventy.

 “Can I drop you off at the dance class?” he pleaded softly, his eyes turning misty in love. “She nodded in agreement, a slow blush creeping to her pale, damp cheeks. They walked in silence, weaving a love carpet with unspoken words.”

 “Amma, what is the boy’s name?” Kamala interrupted my mother’s wistful monologue.

 The crease on her face returned with a hint of sadness. I glared at Kamala.

 Suddenly, I turned when the awkward moment was broken by her clear reply, “Satish. That’s his name.”

 She ignored my incredulous look, ready to continue her story.

 I then realized that my mother was living in her past.

 “The girl spent hours perfecting her passion while he waited patiently in the portico. She stepped out. The gray clouds had scurried away, and the sun peeped out just to announce its departure for the day.

This time she had a lot to share with him- her upcoming ‘Arangetram’, her fellow dancers, etc. Time was lost to them as they carefully waded through the slushy roads to reach her home. She failed to see her father’s silhouette framing the gate on that moonless night.”

 I gasped, but Amma ignored it.

 “Her father pushed Satish away, and he fell on the road with a scream. Her mother restrained her from helping him. They pulled her into the house.

The next day, she heard their loud voices behind closed doors chalking out a marriage plan for her.”

 “Was she married later… to whom?” I wanted to hear it from her.

 She just shook her head in affirmation and rose to go to bed. I stared after her with vacant eyes.

 “Riya didi, Amma doesn’t remember your or Appa’s name but….,” she choked as we stood in the light of the night lamp watching her supine figure snoring peacefully.

 “Kamala, Amma can only recall events deep-seated in her brain. She must never know that she suffers from Hyperthymesia. I want to listen to everything she sees from the open door.”

 Kamala wiped my cheeks with her pallu.