“Love and sex are different. You know that I don’t love you, don’t you?” she shifted her weight and the mattress recovered its depression.

“Yeah, love is too strong a word just now.” “It’s just lust, sweetheart. Hey, do you want some water?” He nodded that he did, and she got up to fetch him some water.

The room they were in was littered with writing material. There were pads and notebooks all over. The walls had peach coloured acrylic paint that shone just a bit. A video camera pointing away from them lay in the corner. A computer table, a knock down bed made in China, two bedside tables and a dressing table were crowded in the small room. Various artefacts from Indian culture were displayed on the wall.

“Do you think they’d be upset if they ever found out?” he asked her, gulping down the water.

“Don’t know. Hope they never find out,” she said looking away.

“What if they do?” he asked, arms behind the head, leaning back on the headrest.

“They won’t like it for sure,” she said, and put the glass on the bedside table. She sat down beside him on the bed.