That fluffy hand in mine (I’m holding it so tightly; like it belongs to me), running inside her house, when it started raining outside in the park; where we were talking about our lives and [Us]. When we reached inside her house, I found extremely strange things; may be, you can say it’s annoying stuff. My mother was there, one of my brother’s wife was there as well. And her mother refused to recognize me when she saw us holding each other’s hand. Who are you? She asked, looking straight into my eyes, but with a warm smile on her lips. Before I could answer, I felt loosing control of fluffy hand, devastating for me! She smiled back at her mother and said, “how can you not recognize him? mom, you were the one who told me about him in the very first place.” And then (Boom) my mother came from behind and introduced me as her son.
And then I don’t remember what happened next. But the warmth of her fluffy hand is still on my skin.
Shuhab's Bloggue 