With the Sun

That day I was talking with Rabi.

: Rabi, are you listening?
: Mm-hmm, tell me.
: My heart feels so heavy today...
: I know.
: How can you tell?
: You haven't written anything for your beloved today, have you?
: Will you write for me? Please, Rabi! Today, just a little... could you hide away your Bankim-self and awaken that intensely passionate cluster of tender hurt so dear to Sharat-babu, for him, Rabi? For my beloved?
: For you I can do anything!
: Then go! But knowing your sheer dismissive nature, please don't take the chance to make what you've given me into my exclusive right or habit, I beg of you!
: Is that so? You're telling me to leave? Can you bear to let me go? Can you truly take back from me the right to seize opportunity?
: There you go again, awakening your Bankim and standing me squarely in Kamalakanta's office? Go... I won't let you leave after all! What will you do then, let me hear!
: Make the most perfect use of opportunity! What else!
: Very well, no! But this isn't going well, Rabi!
: All right, fine... tell me!
: Where is it? You said you'd write for my beloved... you haven't written anything, have you?
: I've written it all down... look! Now you just arrange it in your own way!
: How do you manage it, tell me?
: It's because you need to understand me that I had to be created in Rabindranath's body!
: No, no... you are my Rabi! Everyone else's Rabindranath! Do you understand now?
: Ha ha ha... silly thing, what else!
: Yes, your silly one!
: That I know!
: Listen...
: Yes, tell me...
: I love you so much!
: Don't I love you just as much!