"What shall we call her?" the mathematician asked. "With all the walking about, we forgot to come up with a name."
"If you don't mind," the poet offered shyly, "I though we might call her Kavya."
"Kavya. That's pretty. Why would I mind?"
The poet blushed. "It means poem." The mathematician was silent a long moment, and then he smiled. "Well, if we decide to have another, we can always name it math. For this child, I think Kavya will be just perfect."
And she was.
*****
END
with thanks to Ursula K. Le Guin, for her wonderful Fish Soup