In the four years that I have lived here, I have never seen them happy. They didn’t seem unhappy either. They were just okay, I guess.

They were the kind of couple that liked routine. Every morning, Raj and Kanika had tea together, perched on metal chairs in the middle of the sprawling lawn, their backs to the line of potted chrysanthemums behind which stood their enormous bungalow. When Raj returned home from work around 8pm, they had a quiet dinner together at the eight-seater teak dining table.

Other than that, I never saw them seek each other out.

After they retired to their bedroom, I don’t know if Raj asked Kanika what she did that day. I don’t know if they spoke about where they might go for their next holiday. I don’t know if they discussed politics. I was never allowed inside their room at night.

I could roam around their room in the day, but at night, I was to be tied to the fancy black railing of the staircase. I didn’t protest. It was a big house, I had done my share of running around, wagging tail and munching goodies, all day.

So, I was happy to be left alone at night.