The meeting.

A streak of warm light fell on Aditi’s facial curves, she detached the rubber-band from her hair and let it drop against the shafts. Sunday mornings bear with its arrival the sense of tranquility of not rushing which narrates her other days. She took her phone and dived into the abyss of the virtual world,…

The anatomy of a writer

The slavering glance on the ascenting sun, a puff of smokes emanated, the typewriter relentlessly working like a labour in the magnamious farms The sun brings light,but as if the darkness in the back of her room was a metaphor of her. Her pessimism was artistry as she carved words out of her calamitous abyss,…