He was but a boy of thirteen, with shiny eyes full of dreams.
The same beautiful eyes saw his father die.
They were still the same, as beautiful as ever,
but their owner changed, aged years in no time.
With or without the dreams eyes shinned the same.
You don’t age in numbers or year.
You do age in scars, tragedies, and experience.
She was sitting in front of a mirror, a bride, dressed in a red Saree staring at her wedding ring, not saying a word, just staring at it. Her mind was empty, incapable of thinking look and in a state in which you have no sense of time. Incapable of movement she was still staring at the ring. Someone knocked at the door. She didn’t move. The second time the knock was strong enough to break her solitude. She rose to open the door. Continue reading “Mirror.”