While Mr Sanskaar Maheswari tried to sort out confusion about being bowled over by ball or girl...

The fall of the newcomer tossed the already noisy group into chaos. They rushed forward, game forgotten. The girl led the pack; she reached him first.

"Are you alright?" She asked breathlessly, concerned for the cross-eyed visitor. "Oh, God," she said under her breath as she saw him kneading his left shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she muttered as she helped him up. He stood straight brushing off the dust on his blazer He was a head taller than her, so she had to look up to apologize.

Then he looked at her closely, the first thing that struck him, her eyes, deep brown resembling the colour of melted chocolate. Lost for a second, gazing into them, he was pulled back with her apology."Sorry," she said again as the eyes in question bored into his.

"Nice hit," he said dryly, absently filing away the fact that she had nice eyes, which at the moment were wide and sincere. "Sorry," she said again softly, sounding a lot like her little playmates. His dry tone was enough chastisement for anyone. And she winced internally seeing him wince in pain as he rotated the shoulder experimentally.

"Lagi aapko," she caught her tongue. "Let's go inside," she took his arm to guide him in. He whipped out one elegant pocket square, dusted off the seat of his pants. And swallowed the mild annoyance.

"Go call Father," she told one of the kids, who nodded and scrambled ahead of them. The entire bacho ki toli converged around them, and they moved en masse. "Didi, Father dekh lenge inko?" A little voice piped up from the side

Sanskaar turned to look as his newly appointed tour guide nodded. "Bilkul. Unhi se Milne aye honge," she replied, turning to him for confirmation. He nodded.

"Didi inko chot lagi hogi?" Another kid, torn between excitement and concern for their visitor, desperately trying to hold back the giggle. Any kind of action was welcome here. "Father inko thik kar denge?" Another one. "Ha bilkul," she replied reassuringly."Father Benedict," she turned again, to explain this time. "He's a doctor."

He nodded again. Her utter confidence in Father Benedict had to mean something good. Idly he wondered about the gym the next morning. His shoulder...He bit back the wince.

"Hume dekhne denge?" Next little birdie chirped, "jab inko thik karenge tab?"

"Hmm, nahi sabko nahi." She said thoughtfully. Too much ruckus already, probably giving their visitor a headache."Jo ache bache hai unko hi," she tacked on as an afterthought, trying to be stern but failing. She gamely held back the smile at their happy chorus of "me acha hu, me bhi achi hu". It was not good manners to laugh at another's misfortune, particularly when they had caused it. But the kids were as happy as they were on picnics.

Sanskaar couldn't help the frown. The kids were having too much fun just because he fell. Then sighed. They probably hadn't had as much excitement in days. At least the girl was courteous. And had the good sense to try and shush the kids. He hoped Father Benedict would restore order to his perfectly balanced, presently chaotic life. Resigned, he let himself be tugged and pulled towards the church infirmary by the girl in formals and her little playmates, ignoring the mild headache brought on by the excited mass of children.

He was seated on a little raised bed in the little clinic (clinic it was, for it did have all the trappings of one), the kids restrained by an invisible line at the doorway. Their Didi (why hadn't he thought to ask her name as yet?) told them something in hushed tones, which caused many giggles and obedient nods as they all huddled by the door.

"What did you tell them?" He asked in an undertone as she came to him.

"Chocolates," she replied in the same tone. And then she winked at him conspiratorially, smiling."Maan gaye. They are good kids," her smile softened.

Charmed, he smiled back. She loved those kids, whoever she was. And the way they hung on her every word, they loved her right back.

Her smile gave way to concern as saw he was favouring his right. "I'm sorry," she said again as instant guilt crept back."Can I have your jacket?"

"Huh?"

"Your jacket," she repeated."Father Aa jayenge, he'll want to examine you," she held out a hand for it, her eyes full of remorse. She didn't like hurting anyone. Intentionally or not.

He saw the hurt in her eyes. Oddly, he wanted to comfort her, rather than the other way round. "It's okay," he assured her, putting his own distress aside. She looked so much like a child, all cherub cheeks and wide eyes and bouncy black curls bound in a ponytail, standing there quietly with apologies in her eyes. He started to reach put to pat her hand, caught himself as something pulled at his left shoulder. "Umm, you'll have to help me," he said softly. She nodded, bounced forward to ease the jacket off him.

"Yaha lagi thi?"She asked as she poked about gently. "No," he shook his head, wondering who this girl was, and what made him want to quiet her distress rather than his own. "Yaha?" She probed again. When he shook his head again, she smiled. "Okay," she smiled hoping to put him at ease, and he couldn't help responding. Her smile... She had a pleasing smile, impish, full of mischief. And wonderfully expressive eyes...

She pressed a finger down gently near his collar bone, and he yelped. "Ouch!"

"Sorry, sorry" she bit her lip. Definitely sore there, she should have been more gentle in her probing. She wondered what the priest would say, and how she could have been so careless as to hit passers-by.

"May I know your name?" she asked quietly.

"Sanskaar Mah-" there was a flurry of excitement outside the door as the kids made way for a middle-aged priest, who greeted them with smiles and lots of hair-ruffling, pats on the shoulder and one-armed hugs.

"Hello," he walked in, white cassock flowing, and more smiles. He was tall and lean. He walked with purposeful strides, had strong features and kind eyes. And like it was with the girl, Sanskaar couldn't help the answering smile to the priest either.

"You must be Sanskaar," he smiled warmly, taking his right hand in his. He had been expecting the young man."Swara beta, get him some water," he instructed her.

" So the name is Swara, hmm sounds nice". Sanskaar thought

She pointed to her own collar bone, left side, before turning to the water filter.

"Sore?" Father Benedict turned his attention back to Sanskaar, probed very gently where Swara had suggested. Sanskaar nodded. "It's fine, I think." He got an answering nod from the priest, who continued the examination quietly, gently. Swara set the glass of water on the table and went back to the kids.

"Remove the shirt," the priest ordered matter of factly.

"Excuse me?" he was startled. Jacket, shirt, what was next?

"You have bruises, son. I need to see," was the explanation.

Reasonable, but..he didn't mind modelling a bit, had no compulsions stripping for the pool on occasions, he had a nicely toned body that he maintained well. Showing off was even fun, like at a pool with lots of admiring females. But in a church, a clinic with two dozen giggling kids and a pretty girl watching from the doorway, it seemed a little..awkward. He cleared his throat.

Father Benedict looked up, smiled in understanding.

"Swara beta?" he called, without looking back at the group in the doorway.

He heard the rustle of excitement, peered around his doctor to see. Swara was telling them something in whispers, that sent them into more happy chaos. She shushed them, herded them out.

And she thought it funny that Mr.Elegant's composure was shaken by the request to remove the shirt. Wondering idly about Salman Khan, laughing to herself, she led the kids out.

He was given water, asked questions, made to rotate his shoulder a little. The diagnosis was sore shoulder and no other damage.

He spoke to the priest about his ideas, his need to do something for the community, and preferably away from the media circus.

Father Benedict was very supportive and encouraging and wholeheartedly agreed to keep his involvement on the down-low.

When he stepped outside, she was waiting in one of the pews. "Hey," he said as he came closer. "I am really-" she began, and he cut her off with a gesture. "Please ek bar aur sorry mat kehna," he said with an exasperated smile. "I'm fine."

She nodded, swallowing the next apology as it only seemed to add to his distress.

"Sanskaar," he held out his good hand. "Swara," she shook his hand, smiling. She did want to apologize. Instead, she asked, "Can you drive?"

He laughed. "Yes." Poor thing was choking down the apologies and enquiring about his welfare. "Do you work here?" he asked for lack of anything better.

"Whenever I get time," she answered, leading him out the door.

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They chatted a little, about the orphanage, Father Benedict's work. Some non-consequential things then parted ways.

Sanskaar raised a hand in farewell. And she returned the gesture. Of the expensive clothes and gentle manner. For all his sophistication, he wasn't rude, didn't scowl or scold the kids, and stopped by one of the kids for a handshake and smiles on his way to the car. Nice person, she thought. Nice smile. Cute too, she thought with a little giggle as she turned to go. From what little they spoke, he intended to spend a lot of time here. Maybe she'd run into him again. She hoped the shoulder wouldn't bother him much for long.

In his rearview mirror, he saw her go in, hand in hand with one of the kids. Sweet girl, he thought even as he felt the twinge in his shoulder. She had a nice smile. And a basketful of apologies, he thought, laughing to himself as he backed up and sped off. Interesting character. Maybe he'd run into her again.

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