?????

"Amita!"
"Yes, Maji?"
"I need you to go get the fruit from Mr. Bharat."
"Yes Ma."
Everyday Amita would get fresh fruit from the corner street market as directed from her mother. She had been there so many times she knew every turn by heart. She could walk there with her eyes closed. Like routine she took a large step over the small pothole before reaching the Al Ahmar Bakery.
"Hello Mr. Laghari."
"Hello Ms. Amita, would you like a piece of bread? It's straight out of the oven"
"No, thank you Mr. Laghari. Goodbye. I wish you good sells today!"
Everyday Mr. Lagari offers Amita a loaf of bread. She always says no, though always tempted. Her mother told her not to accept charity. Especially considering the family she's from. Amita reaches the market.
"Amita! How's your mother?"
"She's well thank you."
"I have your fruits already ready."
An exchange of fruit and coins are made.
"Have a wonderful day, Arjun."

"I'm back Mother!"
"Oh, hello Bubu," said Amita as she walked through the door taking of her shoes and putting them in a neat pile next to the door.
"Hello sweetheart, come give your father a kiss."
"Bubu, I'm too old for this."
"You’re never too old to show your love for your parents, and give a kiss to your mother too."
She does as she’s told and gives both her parents a kiss on their cheeks.
"Oh, do you want to sit down and watch the cricket game with me?"
"No Bubu, maybe another time, yes?"
Amita goes upstairs to her room and closes the door very softly this time. Last time she closed it a little too hard which resulted in an hour long lecture about slamming doors. She sits on her bed, reaches for the book on her nightstand, plops her feet on a pillow and reads. She opens the window to let fresh air in. The sounds of Mumbai are strangely so relaxing to her. The honks, the people, the music. Amita has a passion for no other thing but reading. It comes from the high expectations from her parents of becoming a doctor or lawyer. Usually parents want their girls to marry a doctor, CEO, or lawyer, but she’s actually really grateful that her parents expect more from her than just being a housewife.

The Next Day

"Amita!"
"Yes, Maji?"
"I need you to go get the fruit from Mr. Bhatia."
"Yes Ma."
"Take this basket to hold them in. I've asked him to add more fruits in this time."
"Okay, Maji.”
Amita takes her usual route to Bhatia and stops to say hello to Mr. Laghari.
"Hello Mr. Laghari."
"Hello Ms. Amita, today you must have some bread. I made more than usual and I know I will not get that many customers today. You see, business hasn't been going so well."
The look on Mr. Laghari's face just made Amita feel pity for this man. Mr. Laghari was an older man with a full head of white hair. All his kids were grown and he had to make a living. He wasn’t the richest man. So to lighten the mood she responded, "You know Mr. Laghari, I think today I may be in the mood for some bread. It smells delicious!"
The expression of the baker changed dramatically. He had only a bit of hope that she would actually take the bread, but because of this his day was made. He ran to the back and came back a minute later with 3 loaves of bread.
"Straight out of the oven just for you, Ms. Amita."
"Thank you Mr. Bhatia."
Amita gets her fruits and goes back. She was taking her usual route, but spotted something that she usually doesn’t see. She was turning into the alley to get home faster, and she say a boy that looked about the same age as her digging around a dumpster. Immediately one word popped into Amita’s head; dirt. His hands were encrusted in oil and mud, along with his neck. He was engulfed in the stale air. And he had a beautiful dirty smile.
"Umm, hello. Do you need some help there?"
Startled, he turned, “No, thank you ma’am”
“What are you looking for?”
“Umm, well, if you must know, food. For my mother and sisters.”
She looks down at her basket and back at the kid. She looks down again and sees the fruits for her mother and the three loaves of bread Mr. Bhatia gave her.
“Would you like some bread?”
He looks up at her and jerks his head up and down. She takes out all three loaves and hands it to the boy. He grabbed onto the bread for dear life. 
“Wait, what’s your name?” she asked.
“Amar Patel.”
“That’s a nice name. My name’s Amita. Amita Kapoor.”
She extended her hand to shake his. He looked down at his own hands and smiled shyly and with a bit of embarrassment he wiped his hand on his cut pants, assuming from the lack of a hem. He reached out his hand, grappled onto hers and shook it vigorously. She laughed.
“So where do you go to school?”
“Oh, I don’t go to school.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that. Have you ever gone to school? ”
“No. I don’t even know how to read and write. Well, thank you for the bread!”
“Oh, of course, you’re welcome! It was no problem, hey how about this; tomorrow we could meet up here again and I could get you some more bread, how about it?”
“Well...” Amar was hesitant at first, “okay, I would like that.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow then!”
They wave and go their separate ways.
On her way back home she couldn’t stop smiling. She was so excited to see him again. She had so many questions for the boy. She wanted to know every single thing about him. Amita looked back down at the basket of fruit and realized how grateful she was that she never had to dig or beg for food for her family. Amita knew about poverty and knew that there were poor and homeless people, but it had never been so close to her face as it was now.
Everyday Amita would get fruit for her mother. She would get bread from Mr. Laghari. Because Amita was not allowed to take charity, she started buying the bread herself which helped Mr. Laghari’s business. She would then meet Amar at their spot and give him bread. She started buying him more things other than bread. They talked for as much as they could before her mother would start to wonder where her daughter was. Amita met Amar’s mom and sisters and she taught Amar how to read. They were best friends despite their different lifestyles. They started to grow apart as they got older, but never forgot one another.