This wasn’t the world she knew
Reality looked grimmer
The truth, even bitter
Love took refuge in kind hearts
Hate lurked freely
Faith had aged gracefully
Its days were numbered

Brutal words had marred relationships
And bruised many-a-hearts
As they lay on the street
Bleeding freely

She walked to the tower of hope
It was barren
Cries of misery echoed through the hills
An air of contempt chilled her bone
People morphed into venom-spewing snakes
Sadism was rampant

She looked around
Frantically searching for them
Corners. Hill-tops. Roof-tops.
‘Where are they?’, she wondered

On a narrow ridge
A gleam caught her eye
She ran as her heart raced in excitement
She had found them

Muddied and bloodied
They lay destroyed
Shattered in a million pieces
Crushed under a brutal burden
They were breathing their last
Her rose-tinted glasses

She mourned
Her world would never be the same again

His eyes full of remorse

Guilt ran through his veins

Remorse clouded his eyes

Tears throttled his words

Anger numbed his bones

‘Be careful’, he remembered her words

Regret plagued him

Stripped bare of emotions

He shut his eyes tight

A feeble attempt to erase the memory

Was but a vain effort

He could still see the entity

Sitting on the silver pedestal

Dressed in black satin

She outshone Satan

Her hollow eyes pierced his skin

Commanding him to come forth

He walked towards her

With guarded steps

And handed her the wooden box

A wicked glint danced in her eyes

He hung his head in shame

And as she opened it

An evil laughter echoed through the domes

Breathing its last

In all its nakedness

Lay his dignity

Shredded to pieces

Broken.

‘Do we have to do this?’, she asked helplessly. He was busy fastening his harness. He had not done this in months. And he was excited. For months, he had restrained. He knew how uncomfortable these adventure-urges of his made her. But he had to do this. For himself. Whether she liked it or not.

‘No love. You don’t have to’, he said. Her face broke relieved smile.
‘But I want to’, he continued. Her smile disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared.

‘What’s with your sudden need for adventure? Do you know how risky this is?’, she pleaded, hoping he’d change his mind.

He walked towards her with a confident smile. She looked like a scared puppy. He couldn’t help himself. He started to laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’, she asked. Annoyed.

‘You my baby. You’, he said, pinching her nose. She made a face.

She was on the verge of crying. A thousand questions plagued her mind. Thoughts were playing Jekyll and Hyde. All she wanted was this trauma to end.

‘I’ve always loved adventure. It’s my passion. It keeps me alive. This is me. I need to do this. And I’ve done this before.’, he tried to reason. But it wasn’t easy. He knew he’d have to battle a volley of questions. He knew her well.

‘Can’t you see, it’s a risk. What if the rope snaps? What if you can’t get back up? What if something horrible happens?’, she was getting hysterical. And he knew it’d only get worse.

‘Stop acting like a child. Everyone does it. It’s not rocket science. Probably your world is full of wusses. Mine isn’t. And what’s life without a little risk? Get over it’. He had no choice but to be hard on her. That’s the only way she’d ever understand.

His words upset her. This wasn’t easy for her. She had never done this before. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to. She looked at him, tenderly. He was perfect. And stubborn. Perfectly stubborn. And she loved him. The wind had left his hair in a mess. She walked up to him and straightened his hair.

‘You look adorable’, she smiled, planting a soft kiss on his lips. She held his face in her hands and stared deep into his eyes. The man who always stood by her. The man who drove her to pursue her passions. The man who turned his life around for her. The man who made her the woman she was. She had made up her mind. Finally.

She let go of his face and turned to leave. He looked at her, disappointed. Somewhere deep in his heart, he was hoping she’d be with him through this. But she’d never understand his passion. He wondered if she ever understood him at all. He wondered if it was worth all the effort he was putting in.

‘This is it. Wish me luck’, he said, readying himself for the jump. Just then, he saw her running towards him.

‘Wait…’, she was out of breath. ‘Have I fastened this correctly?’, she said, catching her breath. ‘Yep’, he answered, without taking his eyes off her.

‘Seriously? Are you sure?’, he said happily, unable to keep the smile off his face. ‘You want to do this?’,  staring at her, unbelievably.

‘I’m jumping with you. We’re in this together.’, she said, as she held his hand tightly. ‘I’ll keep the faith alive. And I hope we survive’, she said mischievously. She entwined her fingers in his and squeezed his hand gently.

They looked at each other. Their eyes spoke volumes. And without a word, they let themselves fall. Hand in hand, their flight had begun.

He looked around. Barren cliffs stretched as far as his eyes could see. It felt lonely. A feeling he grew up with. His childhood was stark. The only memories he had of his childhood were running through the yellow sunflower fields, away from home. Away from parents. The fights. The abuses. The violence. The ugly divorce.

Mark had always been a detached child. He enjoyed solitude. He loved lonely walks by the beach, talking to the stars or strumming his guitar as the moon watched in awe. He had left his high-paying corporate job to become a musician. To explore the world. Live life on his terms. Taste freedom. Touch the skies. He hated playing slave. He hardly had friends. He had no family. He never wanted to get married. Love repulsed him. He enjoyed a date or two once in a while, but he never let the women get too close.  He never called back. He never felt the need.

But it was one of his nights at the beach that changed his life. Strumming his guitar, he was lost in the world of music and lyrics. The waves quietly lapped the shore. An orange, fiery bonfire burnt brightly against the moonless night. And while he sang, she watched. Bound by the lyrical notes, she sat captivated. It was a solemn, grave voice that reeked with soulfulness. She closed her eyes as his voice made love to her being.

He didn’t know how long she’d been there. He didn’t care. Dressed in a lilac flowing gown, eyes closed, she was a picture of eternal beauty. The gentle breeze teased her brown mane. There was a happy warmth to her. The kind that made you smile. The kind that made you want to be around her. The kind that made you realize that life wasn’t bad after all.

‘Beautiful stranger’, he smiled to himself.

And that night was just the beginning.

In barely a year, he had come to love Susan more than anything he’d ever cared for. More than his music. More than his life. He could see his unborn children with her. She, on the other hand, wanted more out of life. She was a bohemian. A nomad. Her mind was free of attachments.

‘I have too many dreams Mark. And just one life. Don’t bind me’, she said.

And finally, a month ago, she’d told him she wanted out. He was distraught. Not having her in his life killed him. He was a mess. He tried hard but despite all this efforts, he couldn’t wean himself from her. She refused to answer his calls. She refused to reply to mails. She had returned every gift, every photograph, every song he’d written for her. She was a dreamer. She was a believer. She preferred the dreams of the future to the history of the past. She had moved on.

Back at the cliff, he looked at his watch. He had spent 4 hours already. He then looked at his cell phone. Susan’s beautiful, radiant smile lit up the screen. He smiled ruefully. He missed her terribly. He always anticipated a call. Or atleast a text. It was always the same. Nothing.

‘I love you so much’, he whispered, kissing it softly.

And without warning, he jumped. 4000 feet into the barren arms of nothingness. He felt free. He was free-falling to a place of peace, quiet and solitude. And even in those few moments, he stared at Susan’s photograph, clutching his phone tight. She was the last person he wanted to see before he closed his eyes.

And just then, the phone began to ring. ‘Susan calling’, it said.

Disturbed, he lit a cigarette and poured himself a strong shot of whiskey. He sat on the rocking chair, his thoughts unexhausted. The nightmares had robbed him of his sleep. They had begun three weeks ago when he accidentally ran over the little boy on the highway. He wanted to help. He really did. He even got out of the car to tend to the boy. But then he saw the mother screaming hysterically. And the father was running towards him. Petrified, he hurriedly got back into his car and drove away. It was when he saw the news the next day, did he realize the boy was dead. He felt like a murderer. The guilt was killing him. Tyler Brown could never be the same again.

Somewhere else, it was a rainy Wednesday. The thunderous grey clouds roared angrily. Strong winds and incessant rains, ‘…probably God’s way of mourning’, he thought. Sitting in his study, he stared at the piece of news. He was distraught. Three weeks ago, his son 5 year old son Pete was run over by a car. Pete had died in his arms, as he looked on helplessly. His wife was in a state of shock. Between completing formalities and tending to his wife, Francis Price was determined to fight for justice. But he knew it was shot in the dark. He hadn’t even seen the killer’s face. He had no lead. No proof. No witness. Nothing. But try he would. By now, he had lost all track of time. And he didn’t care. All he cared for at this point was justice. The guilt of not saving his son was killing him. The thought that his son’s killer was freely walking the streets of London killed him even more. Francis Price could never be the same again.

For weeks now, the police station had become second home to Francis. He spent practically all his waking hours there. He had become a somewhat familiar face. Days passed into weeks. Finally, his persistence paid off. Francis had finally managed a breakthrough. One of the senior officers had agreed to assist him with an attorney. An attorney who had just won the most talked about case last year and touted to be the next big thing. A meeting had been fixed. Francis couldn’t have asked for more.

Tyler looked at the clock. 6 am, the green neon digits flickered. He had another 4 hours before his life would change forever. It was the toughest decision he’d taken in his entire life. But he knew he had to do it. He was about to make himself yet another drink, but thought otherwise. He looked at the clock again. 6:10 am, the digits flickered. Time was crawling painfully slow. He walked towards the shower and let the icy cold water wash him over. ‘Murderer. Murderer. Murderer’, his mind screamed. He turned off the shower and walked out.

Francis and Senior Inspector Martin Warren had arrived early. Sitting at a French Bistro, Francis looked at his watch nervously. ‘…and then we could probably get a lead’, Warren said with a mouthful of Blueberry muffin. But Francis wasn’t listening to him. He was replaying the events of that fateful night in his mind. Lest he’d miss out on any detail.

‘Are you even listening, Francis?’, Warren’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

‘I’m sorry Mr. Warren. Just nervous’, he said, as he took a sip of his espresso.

Warren reassuringly patted him on the shoulder and offered him a muffin.

‘Ah! There he is’, Warren said suddenly gesturing towards a smart looking man walking towards them. Dressed in a grey pullover and black linens, he looked like the kind who knew his job. There was a comforting quality to him. A quiet confidence that immediately put Francis at ease. He seemed like the perfect attorney. And Francis could finally see a ray of hope.

The attorney approached the table. Warren got up and shook hands with him.

‘Let me introduce you two. This is Francis Price. He lost his son in an accident three weeks ago. This man seeks justice’, Warren said.

‘And Francis, meet Tyler Brown. Your attorney. He’ll be fighting your case’

He couldn’t stop smiling. They’d been waiting long. She’d been waiting even longer. He rushed towards her and kissed her passionately.

‘Congratulations’, said the obstetrician, as she looked on happily.

‘I’ll leave you two alone now’, she said, shutting the door behind her. She couldn’t stop staring at the sonography.

‘That’s my baby’, she whispered, staring at the pea-sized figure and nearly choking on her words. Her eyes were welling up. And he couldn’t get his eyes off her.

Dressed in an over-sized red t-shirt and beige pajamas, she looked divine. A few loose strands had escaped from her otherwise perfect bun. Gently, he tucked them behind her ears. She smiled at him through her tears. Her face shone with an ethereal glow. He hugged her close. She smelt like fresh daises.

Back in the car, she sat silently. Twirling her hair, staring outside the window, deep in thought.

‘O Basanti, pavan paagal’, mindlessly she was humming along with the radio. He turned off the radio, she continued to sing.

‘…na ja re na ja, roko koi…’  He loved to hear her sing. She didn’t have a beautiful voice, but she sang with her soul, from her soul.

He loved her for what she was. An emotional fool. A hyper-active idiot. Spurts of smartness amidst stupidity. A quirky side that took him by surprise, more often than not. A listener. A thinker. A friend. A companion. A fiercely faithful lover. His strength. His weakness. And now a mother. The mother of his child.

His mind drifted to the first time they’d met. Hours of conversations over coffee. Quiet walks long after the sun had set. Stolen kisses under the moonlit night. Nights of love making after pints of alcohol. And then it happened. He had crossed the forbidden line. She had warned him. Yet, he took his chances. With arms wide open and eyes tightly shut, he had fallen madly in love with her.

He couldn’t imagine letting her go now, but he knew that it was inevitable.

‘Why did you turn off the radio?’, she said, feeling like an idiot for singing like one.

He looked at her and patted her head. She leaned forward and kissed him on his cheek. She couldn’t stop smiling. Her eyes were brimming with dreams for her unborn child. Their child. He protectively placed her hand over her stomach.

‘Soon he’ll start kicking’, she could barely control her excitement. A sense of sadness dawned in his eyes. She squeezed his hand gently.

‘I’m sorry. But I’ll never tell our child the truth’, she said in a low voice.

He nodded. She got off the car and walked towards her home. He drove away into the night.

Back home, Victor was waiting for her. Anxious. Worried. He heard the door
open. As he saw her walk in, a sense of relief washed over him. He kept aside his drink and half-walked, half-ran towards her.

‘Where have you been?’, he asked worriedly.

‘I’m pregnant’, she said, barely able to control her excitement.

She looked at him. He was ecstatic. Slowly, she walked towards him and hugged her husband tight.

It was that phase in his life when alcoholism had consumed him. His days were spent in an inebriated state. And nights were spent on different beds. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come home. To his home. His divorce had driven him to an extreme. An overdrive of alcohol, drugs and meaningless sex had consumed his life. His sunken, bloodshot eyes, unkempt hair and an overgrown beard dominated his otherwise pleasant demeanor. His trademark Givenchy fragrance was now replaced by Jack Daniels. He drank during work hours and before he knew it, he was jobless as well.

That was eight months ago. He had finally won the battle against these deadly demons. He had managed to ride the tide. And turn it too. It had been a constant struggle. Nightmares would still haunt him. Sometimes, he was afraid he’d crawl back into the hellhole. But he knew better. He had reclaimed his life from the jaws of living death. And he was determined to enjoy every bit of it. With or without her.

Two days ago, he had finally mustered the courage to talk to her. It had been eight months since he’d heard her voice. Surprisingly, it didn’t seem awkward. It was as if they picked up from where they left. She seemed to have mellowed down. But his heart did skip a few beats every time she took his name in her sultry French accent.

They spoke for almost an hour about practically everything. Finally they agreed to meet. And finally, he agreed to meet the man in her life. The man who was responsible for breaking apart their rock-solid marriage of ten years. Of course, he was ready to face him. Of course, he wasn’t in love with her. Of course, he wouldn’t be hurt when they’d walk hand in hand. Of course, he was over her. But ofcourse.

Lost in thought, he was interrupted by the waiter wondering if he’d want a refill. He turned down the tempting suggestion and decided to wait for her instead. Just then, he saw her enter the pub. Even in the dim light, he could tell her apart. The short, red dress she wore did absolute justice to every curve. Her wild curls had grown longer and wilder. Damn, she was gorgeous. His heart skipped a beat.

He took a deep breath as they walked towards him, hand in hand. As she approached him, his jaw dropped in disbelief. He felt faint. With a weak handshake and an even weaker voice, he said.

‘Hi Amelie. Hi Dad’.

Vienna played a setting to the breezy summery dress and the lady donning it. A blue orchid in her hair and a smile that blossomed more, she was walking alongside the café. She was listening to Kevin Rowe’s ‘Singing like a rich man’ on loop. Sitting at the café was a man in his early 30s. His unshaven look and the leather jacket made him look a biker. But he was a poet. A free soul who wanted to turn everything he touched, beautiful.

“The breeze brings in smile

Sometimes wry, sometimes senile

As it injects souls in its way

It drops some venom even in the bay

People flock sharing wide grins

In this convoluted world, there is place even for beautiful sins”

He was staring down that piece of paper and cringing with joy with what he had written. He was never old school in his words, maybe in thought, sometimes. Ironies and parallel lives fascinated him and kept him company for years.

She saw him lost in that piece of paper. And as if she knew, she walked past him, brushing his shoulder.

He felt it. His flesh tingled with strange excitement. His skin goose-pimpled in reciprocation. But he did not flinch. A side glance indicated that she was an extremely attractive woman. A delicate butterfly tattoo on her ankle caught his eye. Her charmed bracket made a delicious crinkling sound as she walked past. A blue orchid stood in stark contrast to her fiery red curls, cascading down her shoulders in a gorgeous mess. He did not dare to look at her. He was afraid she’d be too beautiful. He took a deep breath. An earthy fragrance lingered in the air.

She sat two tables away from him. She stared at him, unwavering. He was a victim to that piece of paper he was so intensely starting at. And then she saw him smile. A smile that radiated such happiness that it hurt. She cringed in disgust. Her petite frame and warm brown eyes shone with quiet vulnerability, making every man want to wrap her in a protective embrace. She hated that. She was a troubled soul who thrived on sorrow. Melancholy inspired her. She was an extremist. She hated greys. She loved black. After all, she was a poet too. Taking a break from Kevin Rowe, she vigorously scribbled on a tissue.

Masked behind every smile, there’s an unsaid pain.

Burning every ounce of desire, just like acid rain.

The soul is hurting, it wants to break free

The more it tries, the harder it’s pulled, in the quick sand of misery.

So don’t smile my friend, a lethal price you’ll pay

Poison arrows will sting you, your happiness it will slay.

Her eyes lit up with a sense of victory as she re-read her piece. It reeked of pain. She loved it. Neatly folding the tissue, she gestured to the waiter. And as he delivered the message to the man two tables away, she made a quick escape. With a spring in her step and a smile on her lips, she hummed ‘Singing like a rich man’. And Vienna was pulsating to the beat.

A man of wry smiles and dry wines, he was rather amused at her attempt to grab attention. This was when he turned old school. Before she could turn around waiting for a reaction, he scribbled a note himself.

“The red curls speak more than required

The heart sinks and the soul stands retired

With spunk found in sorrow

My happiness you may borrow

For all you need is reason to cringe

And it doesn’t sit on a smile’s fringe

So embrace yourself and set yourself free

Then maybe, just maybe you’d impress me”

As soon as she turned around, he kept the letter on her table and waited for her to walk to him. He wasn’t going to walk away. Vienna was serving its purpose. He had found his prey.

And so he thought. From the corner of her eye, she was watching him. Her face broke into a cynical smile. 

‘Not so soon, my friend. Not so soon’, she muttered sharply.

For years, she’d been waiting for this moment. It had taken her 8 years to get over a bruised past. The struggle was a long, tiring one. The hurt had receded. The pain had numbed her. Memories had faded. But the scars kept the nightmare alive, even now. Towards the end, she had surrendered to misery. Happiness was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Not now. Not ever.

Forcing her thoughts back to the man in the leather jacket, she started to walk towards him. The universe was finally her aide. And now, she would conspire on getting even. He had no idea what he was up against. A wicked glint danced in her eyes. Her pulse quickened and so did her step.

He could hear the dainty sound her stilettos made as she marched towards him. She was getting closer. His flesh tingled with excitement. He smiled and turned to look at her. He stared at her. Mesmerized. She was as gorgeous as ever. This couldn’t be. Even Vienna couldn’t save him from his worst fears. She read fear in his eyes. A familiar feeling of comfort swept through her as she spoke in a hauntingly calm tone

“Every time you smile, I feel an ache

In sorrow I dwell, in sorrow I wake

Your happiness will vanish

Your dreams it will banish

Misery will trap you, there’s no escape

Sorrow will haunt you, disguised under a cape

I’ve waited for years, for you to come along

Today I’ll tell you where you belong

A victim to darkness, I envision the end

The chase has begun, start running, my friend”

She took another step towards him. Her earthy fragrance filled his senses. She was too close for comfort. He shifted uncomfortably. He could feel her measured breath on his ear. She leaned closer and whispered in his ears ‘I knew you’d come. I just didn’t expect you to take so long’.

He sank his lips into her heart. Romancing them right into the dark corners. She did not kiss him back but did not stop him either. As the melody of his tongue made music inside her soul, tears rolled down her cheeks and met his lips. His hands were in her hair, hers were in his pants. As passion took precedence, the open air café witnessed love-making by the banks as they had never seen before. The people did not cringe, they did not complain. They just wept at the sight of two souls tearing each other apart with their bodies. She cried and found a resonating voice in the eyes she saw. Her pain was felt by all. And this man was hurting her more than she wanted. She was ecstatic. After he was done with her, he paid the bill and left her with a note to read.

It took her two hours to come back to her senses. After sipping on seven glasses of red wine, she finally unfolded the piece of paper.

“You had me in pieces with your first glance

Fate might argue, but it was a happenstance

One where you walked in my den proud

Roaring into my soul, trashing my happy cloud

With my smile thwarted

And your advances darted

The only way to win was to lose

And crash into defeat of my muse

You choked me into the dark

Leaving me naked. Leaving me stark.

As you wanted I have fled

It’s time for you to stop though

Enough you’ve bled”

And just like that, she broke into a smile.

Another bolt of lightning tore through the clouds and as if on cue, the main door swung open. And she walked in like she owned the room. Half-drenched and in a complete mess. In between catching her breath, she managed to squeeze in a customary hi, an apologetic sorry and an almost genuine smile.

She propped herself on the floor, right across me. I could not help but notice. There was a strange vulnerability about her. A contentment that was vaguely disturbing. She looked around, giving everyone a generous smile. And then she saw me. Her smile faltered. She didn’t look at me. She looked through me. I shifted uncomfortably. She was an enigma. I disliked her immediately.

More seasons came along. More Zadankais followed. In between, work, solitude and an open wound, that enigma was forgotten. Until that cold winter morning, when my life was graced with a call from Mrs. Ghosh.

Armed with a red fountain pen, immersed under a pile of papers, I was in the midst of hunting for misplaced commas and full stops. ABBA was wafting through the air. I was humming along. My phone was grooving to the rhythm as Mrs. Ghosh was evidently making her presence felt.

‘Hello?’ , I answered the call, trying to sound busy.

How have you been, Nachi?’ , her voice a tad too exuberant for a Monday morning.

‘Doing good. How have you been?’, I said, itching to hang up.

‘I’m doing great. Just called to ask you, would you be interested in being the speaker for the Zadankai this Sunday?’

No. No. No, my mind screamed. I wanted to retreat into my comfortable, lonely shell. Afterall, I was nursing a broken heart.

‘Sure. Why not?’, I replied. Rather stunned when my words echoed in my head.

‘Thanks Nachi. Bhavna will be your co-speaker. Call me if you need help. See you on Sunday, dear’.  I could sense the smile in her voice. I felt weirdly content. It was a feeling I hadn’t felt in long. I was smiling back. I knew she could sense it too.

It was a pleasant Saturday afternoon. I looked at the clock. Bhavna would be here any minute. The coffee was brewing and the heady aroma filled up my home. Just then, the doorbell rang. I answered. I stood still.

‘I’m so sorry but there was this last minute change. Bhavna fell ill ya. So I had to take over. You know how it is, no?’

I nodded, uncertainly. ‘Coffee?’, I offered.

‘That’d be awesome. It’s so bloody cold outside. Accha, by the way I’m Vibha’

The enigma finally had a name.

‘Nachi’, I said, offering her the first cup of coffee.

3 cups of coffee, a boxful of cookies and 4 hours later, our life had become an open book. We revisited old chapters. Narrated new ones. Shed a tear over unfinished versus. And laughed at all our typos, till our stomachs hurt. And for the first time in months, my smile reached my eyes. I connected. Conversations seemed endless. Generously doused with ‘ya’, ‘accha’, ‘na’, ‘What ya?’ and ‘cool’, the ice-maiden had melted away.

But the winters remained. And they grew only stronger. So did our bond.

We shared the same quirks. Thoughts. Philosophy. Beliefs. Values.

Ambitions. Dreams. Goals. Hope. Faith. Aspirations.

She was my 4 am friend. My confidante. My Sunday walk partner.

My biggest critic. My biggest support. My mother.

A shoulder to cry on. A voice that rebuked.

Mature conversations. Idiosyncrasies. Books.

Girls’ night out. Girl talks. Life talks. Boys. Men.

Love. Lust. Journeys. Destinations. Destiny. Fate.

Wine. Vodka. Spirits. Even the other kind.

We feared dogs. Loved rain. Absolutely loved red shoes. Hated capsicum.

Despised that girl with the perfect body.

Casual flings. Committed Relationships. Marriage. PMS.

Sex. Sex And The City. Friends. God.

I understood her silence. She understood my outburst.

And even when our ugly sides reared it’s even uglier head, a beautiful relationship blossomed.

My worst fight. My best friend. My soul sister.

Together, we shared many a moment too. Be it sitting by the sea on Christmas Eve singing carols. Or visiting the Old Age Home, where we cried like babies while reading to them. Be it baby-sitting a common friend’s pup. Or a random trip to Leh-Ladakh, where we nearly lost our way. Be it laughing for no reason. Or crying after watching ‘Turtles Can Fly’. Be it sneakily watching the unmentionable DVDs. Or strumming the guitar to our own, mindless songs.

Our Zadankai had long begun. People were still smiling. As was the weather outside. I casually around. The weather was pleasant. The sun had opened its arms for a warm hug. And everyone was basking in it. Another fleet of birds were humming a melody and as if on cue, the main door sang open. And we walked in, together.