A sheet of your long hair drapes my pillow like a blanket. I cautiously place my heavy head on it, close my eyes and wait, until all the air that I breathe in smells of your hair. To be precise, of L'Oreal hair conditioner, part-aphrodisiac, part-air-freshener. Until my arms curl around your bosom, cup you in my palms, making you twitch in your dreams.

Your hair flutters under the fan, pokes my ear, jump-starting me out of my sleep. You are gone. My pillow cover is made of cotton, is wet with my sweat and carries leftovers of the L'Oreal that you left behind, that I have been using to port myself to those days when you were here. Those days when your fragrant sheet of hair never tickled my ear. Your little fingers were there to do that.

- हर्ष स्नेहांशु