I belong to myself, but you can borrow me sometimes!

“Where do you belong?” asked the nurse wearing a white coat over a traditional red attire.

“Punjab”, answered Jaansi unenthusiastically.

“Madam ji, how did you get hurt?” she inquired with a skeptical look and a forced expression that her profession demanded.

“The glass broke and a sharp piece cut through my wrist”, responded Jaansi without looking into her eyes to avoid any further confrontation.

Jaansi's husband, Siddharth, looked worried and pestered the nurse to call the doctor. Siddarth, fondly called Sid, was a tall, lean, clean-shaven, dusky boy from Tamil Nadu. The doctor arrived thirty minutes late as it was past midnight. Upon examination, she suggested visiting a plastic surgeon the next day because the wound had to be stitched. She asked the nurse to clean the wound.