Smoke House Delhi

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Short Story – Who will cry when I die?

Some stories need to be read and when one comes across a good story early in the morning, it inspires to write more. Beautiful Story by a fellow writer – Ravi Sidula

Life is a poetry

It’s been almost thirty six years since the time we both were married.

I put my mind back to the night when my eyes had first fell on her.

It was a full moon night with the chilling breeze cutting the skin. And there she was walking all alone advancing further into the night, unconcerned with the silence that crept around. Not a soul on the street and I wondered why this Lady was out in the open at that odd hour of 2 in the night. I laid my steps forward to reach her. My presence went unnoticed as she continued walking engrossed in deep thoughts.

My eyes fell on her neck. It seemed so silky and neat. Never had I seen such a beautiful layer of skin and the thin golden necklace around it glistened, happy enough for having found such an aesthetic neck to decorate. I drew myself…

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