Her Contradictory Confidante

Behind the wooden door

It was meant to be a bright day; at least that was what Meenakshi thought. She hates it when all the intensity of the bright star and warmth tuck away within the fluff of the grey stratus. Or was it cumulus? Ah!  Those degrading neurons! At least they have spared her memory.

It was that time of the year she nurtured fenugreek in her backyard, and she hates it when the daylight fades into the cirrus. Yes, cirrus it is! Probably her neurons haven’t withered. If there is one thing she has learnt in all these decades of her inhabitance, it is that you never know when the dark horizon would transform into hues of delightful red and tangerine.

She hoped she wouldn’t see another season of cankered tomatoes. Canker, rots… her mind eventually turns its focus on the man who lay on the bed at the corner of the…

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