Keeping her fingers crossed, she picked up fuchsia nail polish again, seventh day in a row for her mom to apply on her beautiful hands and feet.

“Again?” Mom asked, visibly irritated. “Please pick another shade for me tomorrow”, noticing the little fingers still crossed.

“I want that ‘uncle’ to come back who appreciated this colour on your nails. He caressed my hair just like you do mom and said that I resemble his daughter”. She said.

Mom couldn’t explain that though repetition of nail polish was in her control but not her ‘customers’.