They sat there, under the torn palm leaves doing a poor job of covering their head.It was raining, not heavy though, just persistent one and in between the thick fog curtain and cloud chandeliers one can see the sun, wane and alone just a little bulb of phosphorus. He loosely held her hand in his. Her hand, chapped and callous of working over hours bare under heat and dirt. Vein were countable over the palm like some tunnels. But he was happy. She looked into his eyes. They were pale, in clutch of cataract. Wrinkles were as big as sand dunes spread over his face and getting lumpier whenever he gave her a toothy smile. He held her hand more tightly and brought it close to his chapped lips and kissed. She shied, shuddered with a thin fear what if somebody sees them like this. Of course there was a slim chance of that. No one cared to step out in such a cold rainy day, a beautiful chance for them to sit together again, just like fifty years before. If anyone says Life is too long, then they must be the most loveless persons in the world. Or else it has never been long for them, neither in sickness nor in destitution, neither in hunger nor in desire. Just nothing could tear them apart from their company.