The house was as dark and silent as the grave in which she slept, I put my souvenir in a tiny bit of water, but it was too late the beauty of the rose...had already faded, it withered much has she had, their lifetimes spent. Carefully I pressed the petals between two books, I wondered to myself why people insist on doing this, how could a person’s life be remembered by a dead, dried out flower? I poured myself a hit of whiskey and flipped on the TV, not to watch, but to drown out the deafening. Usne hi phone pick kiya tu main usse boli, “Hi Vibha main aliya.”“Haan bol kya baat hai?”“Kuchh nahi yaar aaj tu college ayegi nahi aur main bhi nahi jana chahti par samajh nahi aa raha Mammi se kya bahana karun?”“Kyon kya baat hai?”“Kuchh nahi tu hogi nahi tu akele mujhe achha nahi lagega.”“Are yaar tu mere ghar aaja na?”“Par tum tu kah rahi thi ki tum aaj din bhar apne bhaiyya se?.”“Haan par abhi bhaiyya ek ghante ke liye bahar gaye tab tak tum aa jao fir chali jana.”“Par yaar fir main kahan. More

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