An Old man's Christmas

By foot of the church he stares in a cold

December night. Huddled in the swarm of

peddlers by the tree filled with stars bright.

He eyes at blissful children caroling in joy

as they yell for Chocolate, for Cake and Toy.

As the old man looked at young people bliss,

(A doubly edged bliss, whose duller side was pain.)

And Lone he waited for someone greeting him

“Merry Christmas” but in vain.

His skin wrinkled and his shoulders bend. Like

a wilted Rose without a support can’t stand. He

ponders over the park being filled by young

men. How he wish he could don nine suits

and look young again.

Boys and girl jostled in a Halloween.

Some became an angel and Some looked like pumpkin.

He smiled faintly lost in his own time like this,

when his kin would greet a warm hug and

he would hail a Christmas kiss.

He stood with a stick stiff but fragile. Decked out

in White shirt, Black hat and White tie. The veiling

silence then rolled with Noel words,

as his aging legs sauntered into the church.

He prayed heartily with a heavy breath.

And pondered, “Was this my last Christmas before

my death?

He wished to live more and make more memories to cherish.

As the Vicar in the church chanted:

"For God so Loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son

For who so ever believe in him

Shall Not Perish."

And he believed in the word of GOD and prayed for his happiness.
Astonishingly there were scores of children then, 
who wished him"Merry Christmas", as he replied simply,
"GOD Bless"

My School 12th Reunion...( A story of love)

When I woke up this morning, I felt something unusual, as if I was racing thorough my life in a train leaving behind a collage of images of my home, my family, my dance class and my school friends. Was it because I would be turning 28 in week’s time? Or the desi bland air that was hung with smell of guava leaves and rain coming from my balcony? Or the letter I received from my alma mater of its 12th reunion? It was a Sunday morning of languor as I kept changing sides creating wrinkles on my bed, recalling those days gone by.

“Nilu”, her name was. How I smiled when I first saw her. A chubby girl with exactly two ponytails, her school bag stylishly resting on her right shoulder walked into the classroom. I wish I could relive those days of adolescence yet again but then I have to endure the time of pain that were hidden in my joyous childhood as well…

She had an unusual haughty vibes telling her early education was at some posh boarding school. Her skirt was neatly preened, not very short like those of Delhi girls and the contour of her spotless white shirt told, she had caressed the warmth of teenage life. I dint knew the first poem I penned up for her, would make her cheeks turn red … “Roses are s red, Violets are blue and now I See u, in everything I do…”

I kept thinking as my life was rewinding like that in a videocassette and picture frame around me turned into black and white. I started climbing down stairs from 4^th floor of my apartment facing opposite direction, boarded train that zoomed in retrograded motion as if the last compartment was pulling its engine. In minutes time I hit my country road, I see the newly built malls turning to tea stalls, the tarred roads becoming earthly where sounds of morning fruit seller echoed. My mush starts turning smoother as if I had never shaved, I become more leaner and shorter and then there I was in St Paul’s school, exactly 12 years back, my last day before the boards. It was English class, when Father Thomas was construing the lines of Merchant of Venice and whose beard just turned black from grey as he became younger just like I did a few clocks back.

“Antonio: In sooth I know not, why I am so sad, it wearies me and you say it wearies you, but how I c aught it, found it or came by it, I am to learn…”

As Father was engrossed in teaching the excerpts of Shakespeare’s play, I was staring at him pretending to concentrate but moving my eye balls sideways tying to sneak into Nilu’s eye. As I was about to hurl a paper ball to her, Father knew there was something cooking as he eyed me up with ferocious steps, held my cheeks with his old stubby thumb and pulled it a zillion times. And then raining spit he hurled his clichéd words, which he had already uttered a thousand times…

“What’s wrong there?…Whaaaat is Wronnng there?”

“ You rotten sac of potato, don’t build castles in the air…I feel sorry for u !!! Study hard or else your carrier is ‘goona be marred”.

He continued reprimanding and I continued lending my ear bowing head down until the bell had gone for lunch.

In the break, at the corridor just outside the class, many students gathered. Some threw pranks laughing and pushing each other. Some just stared at the girls with budding round contour clad in tight sweaters and some for no reasons. Few paces away Nilu stood looking for a moment to console me. She looked beautiful as she came near me. Her white bra was thinly visible under her translucent shirt. It made me yearn for more. I waited for the school to call it a day, when I would meet her over a date and that would be more intimate unlike few furtive kisses earlier. I knew she would never say a “ No”. Nevertheless I cheated everybody eye as I nimbly handed over a chit asking her to meet me after the last period.

I ran to the football ground and so did all the guys. Yes, “Game’s” was our last period. It was battle between red house and blue house. All the twenty-four of us frantically ran after one ball. Some girls went for a stroll gossiping and some peeped us from the class window that over looked the ground. I saw Nilu stealing a glance from the sidelines of one of the window. Her boy friend was not less too. He was an exhibitionist and boastful. When I had a chance I dribbled the ball first left and then right, hopped it more forward, fumbling to beat another one but some one from behind always snatched the ball. I used to whack the ground in abject but Nilu would giggle cupping her nose enjoying my hopelessness .It did not matter to her whether I was a “Pele” at the game or a mediocre, after all she had fallen in love with a guy who cuddled her and kissed her at times she was most forlorn, talked whenever she needed him and when she was happy, he multiplied.

Finally the last period called it a quit, as I waited for Nilu in an abandoned room just behind Father’s quarter. It was sheltered with unlimited mangroves from the top and school boundary wall from behind that just separated our school from the railway track. This was the most risk fully safest place at the bay of our campus. Safe because no one dared to saunter at the circumference of father’s quarter and risky because after all it was by the shadow our principal’s home…

Each second of her delay made me more restless. The hands of my clock ticked as fast as the beat of my heart and there she was tiptoeing towards the most mysterious place of our school. Her almond like eyes gloomed like never before. Thoughts of the afternoon stormed my mind as her pony-tailed head lay on my lap. I cleaved a few stands of her hair and kissed the black mole on her nape. We lay among the dusty bench as my hand trailed on every detail of her neck and shoulders. I unbuttoned her top as I saw the strap of her bra that firmly shaped her authenticate curves. My heart pounded unusually faster and our breath became shallower.

“You fool, did you locked the door”, gasped Nilu as I saw twinkle in her eyes. I dint not wish to offend her as I run and twisted the lever of the door. We had devised our indigenous of locking the door from outside.

She looked more tired today as there were streaks of perspiration on her chubby cheeks-but that only made her look more stunning. Even I reeked of the playground smell as my temples were smeared with dust. But where do these impurities matter when your are in love. I kissed her forehead, her eyes, her lips and I dint knew when I had cuddled her bosom. She did not stop me for sure. I set aside her necklace and left a trace of my wetness on the lines of her neck and more below. My hands then fondled her back in circles as I unhooked her bra.

This was the last time Nilu was so close to me. The door which was confidently locked from outside was cruelly broken and there stood a tall figure named Father Thomas with a fury in his eye. We froze with terror and the next morning there was a letter of or suspension on his table. I picked up mine as I kept mulling over the tragedy of errors.

There were many days unfolded since then and after the boards I tried to contact Nilu… But each of my phone call were received with silence and every letter of mine were unanswered.

To be continued….

*************************************************************************************

Drinking beer on a Sunny Sunday

One fine Sunny Sunday in the month of

June, we played a match in the scorching

afternoon. First we ran for runs and then

for catch. Lazily we bowled and finshed the

match. And when the Sun held high in the

Bangalore town ,we decided to have Beer

on the cricket ground. Corona it was so yellow

and clear, like a mellow sunshine bottled in

form of beer. We raised our bottles, and some

their plastic cups. “Cheered” in chorus and

gulped the first cheering Bottoms Up.

“BurrRRrrr”, we howled and squeezed our

lime. The first bottle, the first one

we finished in no time.

The Second pint was smooth and slow.

The Only one who’s’ high was Joe. His eyes

Was fixed and voice numb as he frantically

went on scratching his bum. Ananth too hit

his guitar down , strumming “You spin my

head right round”. Sandy was quiet and

the only sober one, for he was used to drink

Old Monk rum. By and by we drank to the

Core, we counted the score, it was not one or

two nor three but Four.

As I was on a fifth bottle embark, Varun

snatched my drink and hurled his remark,

“Dude, What the Fcuk, this is not fare”,

that bottle not urs, that’s my share.”

“Jack are You ?” , i said, "I can see you through my

hazy funk, Gimme my drink ,am not so drunk”.

His parched soul then headed towards

Karthi ! But he said Sorry Macha, am sharing

my drink with Parthi. And when he was left

with none, He joined sandy with his old monk

rum.

We played a lot of prank, some I cant recall,

For my mind was tumbling under influence

of alcohol. Suddenly came with another bottle

Murali aana, I said,” Sorry brother, too much

Now, I don’t waana”.

At times I ponder, I am doing too much drinking,

So I advised my mind, better quit…….. Thinking.

I poemed this incident on that moment spur. I dint

knew I would mix beer and metaphor. I waked

the sleeping poet within me. Like Frost Robert

writes word and talks like a simile.

The deep were lovely dark like woods

For promised are broken for goods

And smiles to come whenever u drink…

And smiles to come whenever u drink…

*********************************************

************************************

*************************

Emotions

A feeling disguised that sustain in heart abyss.
No one can touch nor can see, no one can encage nor can free.
A sense that can be ecstatic and times eerie.
A rhythm divine and simple but herculean
to unravel its secrecy. Like a string they bind
beads of relationship With the pearl Of love Of separation
and eternal Oneness. They make a famished
mother cry for her dear child amidst all opulences.
Memories linger on and on which haunts the halcyon
days of joy and bliss and nostalgic souls
cry for the patimes that they miss.
Drenched in these ecstatic feelings
Lovers swear to be one and restless they shed
oceans of tear at time of separation.
Sometimes they replete soul happy and gay and
sometimes they cause them dismay.
Presence of which makes life beautiful and
as beautiful it can be. It bring
love, care and empathy when clad
For that is the dichotomy between living and dead.

Love By the FaceBook

“Excuse me, Can u hear me ?”

A voice seemed to fade into the air...

Lost in the oblivion of solitude, the world to him seemed so mundane and hollow. Couching on a lone bus at Jeevan Bheema nagar , Anurag kept mulling at every raindrop that kissed the ground and slitted into several smaller drops. A few sporty ones cruised on a roller coaster ride by the rim of the window pane finally dropping on his elbow. He had given hope that his Face Book acquaintance would ever be his friend and date him...
She would ? She would'nt ?....She would ? …..But why not ? After all she had promised him when he last pinged her. His mind was playing a tug of war with self inflicted questions between Would she or Wouldn't she...

SHWETA, thats the name, he typed searching for long lost class mate.
And FaceBook recommended him a bunch of Shweta Aggarwal to his confusion...Many of them sporting a beautiful profile pictures but to no avail. He browsed through one of the profile with no picture but a big yellow color circle that was happy smiley. Suspecting Shweta he was looking for he sent her a message...

Hey Shweta...
This is me...Anurag !!!Remember ? GOD...where on earth I did not search for u ? Where are you and how u doing ? Remember...u said me... We will always be in touch...But it seems the day we parted from school, we lost our connection...Hope you are the shweta one am looking for 'o else I am sorry !!!
Reply in haste...
Anurag

Hello Anurag
I am sorry...I am not the one Shweta you are looking for....But your message was sweet indeed and I see your are a wonderful artist...One of the sketches in your Photos , where a couple is dancing on white cloud... that sketch...it really touched my heart. I would not mind making you my acquaintance.
Love
Shweta

Acquaintance and Love she had used both the words in her short message. Well, for a moment he felt something unusual under his belly. Nevertheless both of them added each other as acquaintance and as the day passed by they became good friends and as more days passed they became a little more than close friends, if you understand what I mean.

******************************************************************

Shweta tiptoed towards the terrace hiding the piece of paper in her bosom which Anurag had given her this evening. It was a starry night with the wind just blowing to soothe her cheeks. Gingerly she unfolded the piece of paper. It was a sketch of a girl in black sleeveless top which looked exactly like her. Her hairs loose open, strands flying in the air, hands strethced wide emracing the rainfall. Droplets of water hanging aoround her nose and cheeks, as thought bidding the last good bye just before falling down and her dress fully wet hugging her body as though taking the warmth of her ethereal skin. In the background there was a coconut tree bowing down to her as if for protecting her from the storm and there was a streak of lightening in the sky which she was not wary off. Completely independent, Jovial and full of frolic she was lost in her own world of dance.

The sketch was just out of the world. Her lips arched from one end of her cheek to another smiling with unlimited blush. She felt very happy that someone can imagine her so beautifully. But there was a tinge of concern as her heart ached for a moment. She never danced so freely and what if Anurag had fallen in love with her ? It was not that she did not like him but she couldn't imaging getting married to him. She was daughter of a millionaire builder while he was just a meager earning artist. She pondered for some time and decided to suppress her happiness in her heart she felt for the sketch and for Anurag.

******************************************************************

The next afternoon she waited for him at Costa Coffee house. Getting down from his bike, he adjusted his hair . She could sense his anticipation of getting tons of compliment from her....

“So, How was it ?”

“It was good”, She said, “But not like me, u know”....

“But Why not ?”

“The girl in your sketch it seems... Seems like very much younger than I am ....plus she is stupid. She could have at least taken a shelter, how can she be so careless to dance in rain under the coconut tree when its lightening.”

Shweta kept speaking and Anurag kept listening as his eyes sinked deeper and breath became shallower.

“But I dint set out to make you stupid. I drew you as you came to me”

A voice from her heart was telling her to keep mum, but she decide not to listen to it..,

“Did u know, my daddy has never ever let me walk in the rain”

“No But-”

“Did you know I have never ever danced in an open area, like you have depicted ?”

“No But-”

“You are completely mistaken about me. I am rich Anurag but I am not as free as you think. My daddy is really strict and he never let me alone anywhere except for when I come to college. He is like that not because he is thinks I am girl but because he cares for me more than anything in the world.”

“Osh...I am Sorry Shweta...but can you give me a chance to fix it....Can I make the real you ? The one which you like to be....Confident ,Careful and your daddy's daughter...I promise...”



“Daddy' Daughter”, these words from him stole her heart. But she was silent...She knew she has spoken so much for no reason and it was indeed a beautifully sketched herself. She felt sorry but she never expressed her apologies.

“OK”, She replied, “But I don't like wearing black top u sketched ”, She tried putting in attitude.

“You don't have to, I gonna clad you in the blue embroidered salwar, with dupatta hanging very carefully around your slender neck. Your ears Jewelled with the perfect gem hiding between your well groomed strands falling on to your shoulder and your forehead dotted with shinning bindi between your eye brows. ”

Anurag was talking about one of her profile picture on FaceBook that she probably had clicked in one the wedding cermony.

“and I dont want to dance under the rain and my hands should be well poised”

“Sure, you will not...I will make u sit on a chair , a well manicured hands perfectly crossed over your knees. I love it when you are like that flawlessly sitting on chair sporting a smile that could make a sad person like me smile too”

“and I love it when my eyes are Kohled and my feet ankled ”

“Your eyes are beautiful, that is perhaps the first thing I noticed about you. I can imagine how pretty you would look, like when your eye rim would be accentuated by shades of Kohl and how good it would sound when your anklet would jangle as you walked effortlessly”

Shweta sensed her cheeks getting redder and her heart pounding unusually extra as she never ever imagined in her sweetest dream that someone would describe her so beautifully.

It was time for them to part. They bid good bye to each other. Anurag promised that he would paint her exactly the way he told her. Shweta smiled for the last time as she turned to go. Suddenlly she became conscious of her dress she was wearing, the melody of her anklet as she stepped each time and her eyes that whether she forgot to smear it with the Kohl today.Was she in Love too?

To be Coninued....

Serendipity...

Well Serendipity is a story that was written as a part of YOURS TRULY, Complete the Story Contest. Thought i started writing the story long back but couldn't complete it on time. Better late than never, I finally decided to make this Serendipitous couple to call it a day. A young couple who met by chance and destiny had something reserved for them. EnJoY....


It was raining heavily, pouring down, a welcome respite from the heat of the past week. Huddled under the small over-crowded bus stand, I was waiting for the rain to letup so I could walk back from work, when suddenly, out of nowhere, she came walking towards me, and then….

and then with soft effortless accent she asked,
“Is this wallet yours?”

I was surprised by the unexpected suave voice as my eye brows accentuated my expression…

I at ones fished out my fiddling hand into my rear pocket and when I found it empty. The ground under my feet toppled for a moment…

In a jiffy, I took wallet and puffed bountiful of fresh air when I found the purse was mine and my credit card was intact.
“Thank you”, I said.

She smiled and it was so flawless that couldn’t let my eyes off from her. Her black salwar perfectly rolled over her body that had elegance to make any stranger fall in love with her. Her locks numerically dangled twice before it just caressed her soft sleeveless shoulder. “What a beauty”, I told myself.

My eyes met her just for a moment when a red color Volvo screeched to halt. Without even saying a word she disappeared into the crowd. I saw her for the last time through the window. Her eyes caught mine again as I was lost in her with a sense of appreciation. There was a lengthy pause as if the moment had just frozen. The frank and innocent look of mine had won a smile from her. There was a language in her eyes which I couldn’t fathom. I was oblivious for a moment and suddenly the Volvo had hit its stride before I could ask for her number. I felt sad but to no avail…

I felt unusually happy under my belly. I wish I too had boarded the bus along with her.
On a second thought, it was just serendipity and this isn’t a movie. I kept mulling the sweet experience and couldn’t realize when it stopped pouring and I had strolled all the way to my guesthouse.



“Jan 4th, Monday, Bangalore express, M-26, M-27”,
I re-read my tickets for confirmation.

“Hey Rohit, Look its Shweta Rai, F-24 on berth num 8”
I got up as I traced my finger on the semi dampen chart stuck to the coach.

“and here’s Govindraj Rai, M-53, her father”, I said jokingly

“My father- in- law, u jack ass”, chirped Sandip.

We both giggled as we boarded the train as it started pulling forward slowly.

Sandip and me were friends from same college and happened to be colleagues working for Samsung electronics. We were traveling back to Bangalore after a short business trip from Chennai.

I was trying to adjust my suitcase under the huge pit of darkness under my seat.




“Sorry, I didn’t hear you?, a soft suave voice floated in our compartment.

I looked back and was stuck with awe. It was beauty that was all ready defined in my heart. The same black salwar, her strands religiously making two curls before kissing her shoulder and the same captivating eyes radiating an extraordinary sensuousness…
I felt blank and a tremor of restless excitement raced across my body. Her eyes locked mine again and this time with more sense of invitation. She raised her eyebrows and broke the lines of glance with a very debonair blush as if waiting for me to say Hi…

“Is this berth yours, I mean 8-9”?, Rahul retaliated

“Am sorry… I mean come again”,

Birds chirped in Sandy’s head, Gathering courage and tossing his hair, he tired to gather her attention…

“Yes, its ours….Shweta keep our luggage’s on the top”, an elderly person raised his voice making his way through the aisle.

“Papa, where have u been?”

“And here comes Mr. GovindRaj Rai, her father stout and tall”, I whispered Sandip.
“And here comes My father in law, stout and tall”, Sandy giggled.

“So, Young man where are you traveling to…? You guys seems to be software engineers if I am not mistaken”

I being a shy guy kept mum, still lost in the mystery of meeting the salwar girl again.

Sandy looked at his Samsung tag relentlessly hanging around his neck and tried to win the moment from his future father in law with his petite and so called smart reply.

“Yes Sir, we work for Samsung in Bangalore” and forwarded his SWATCH tied right handed wrist for a shake.

Mr. Rai held his stout palm that was weaken with passé of time.
“And here is Rohit , my friend.”, Sandip introduced me.

“Meet my daughter Shweta doing her engineering from Mount Carmel”, Mr Rai introduced her as Sandip raced his hand before me to cuddle her palm.

She raised her hand too, a well manicured one and tiny pearl kept sitting on her middle figure adding to her femininity.

and when she shook her hand with me, it was just a touch of her that made me feel like a soothing sensation reliving my long tired nerves.


The train had hit its stride and the outside world seemed to travel back in time. The rain last evening added to the panoramic view of the nature. The huts, cows and the green field appeared as if making a collage of images in our eyes and then disappearing in a wink. Meanwhile Mr. Rai had opened his first series of Samosas and laddus.
Unable to react to his sumptuous snacks, Sandip fished out his laptop playing an old hindi Kishore Kumar number.

Mr Rai smiled at him as the melodious Kishore kumar came alive in our compartment. Sandip felt a sense of achievement as he gazed at Shweta.

It was a wasted gaze.
Shweta was busy feasting her eyes outside the window with the moving trees and green fields.

“May, I help you Sir?”

I was surprised at Sandip’s sudden tone as the train kept mildly swinging gaining speed.

He took the sauce packet from Mr. Rai helpless hand and opened it with a flare. He spread the thick liquid on the Samosas gazing at Shweta again.

She smiled in return and then this time she looked at me too. Our eyes met for the second time.

“And what do you guys do, apart from racking your head on Software code?”

That was an elderly question as if he is trying to judge the young personality traits of her daughter’s generation.

“I like reading Uncle…

Sherlock Holmes is my favorite and Conan Doyle is my hero”

That was a quick one from Sandy… and his talks from “Sir” to “Uncle”…. his eyes oozed a sense of achievement.

“and what about Rohit”?

“Rohit doesn’t like reading. He doesn’t have patience to do that. He is part of “I can Dance 2”, salsa dance school and often keep doing dance shows..”

Looking at me Mr. Rai queried…

“I Can Dance 2…..Sounds familiar…
Are you the guys who performed at Maniapl County this Christmas?”

“Aaah… Yees…..Yes uncle”, I fumbled for words as I spoke for the first time looking at Shweta.

She looked at me too…
and this time buying some time for a gasp of air, I managed to heave a smile at her.

“Ohh that’s great, when are you having your next show? And salsa seems to be a great dance form?

“Excactly papa, Salsa is very lively to dance and its feast watching professionals doing it”

I was rather surprised at Shweta quick reaction and was pleased to know her fondness for the dance. I felt now more confident and now I gambling my words more manfully I answered:

“Sure Sir… its at Kyra theatre….
Thurdsay…..
7Pm ”

I looked at Shweta and nodded my head with confidence.

“You mean Kyra restaurant @100 ft road, the food there is really sumptuous, papa hates though, he says the taste there comes with a huge dent in the pocket”

Mr. Rai defended, “I don’t hate the restaurant, but the dinner there a weekend would not allow me to spend for the entire week freely”

“That’s right Sir, but we have a show…..”

“That’s Ok” , Mr. Rai interrupted.


*************************************************************************************

It was early morning 6 O’ clock and we boarded down the Bangalore station. We bid our farewell to Shweta and Mr. Rai as we walked towards the taxi stand. I wanted to talk to Shweta ones but my guts did not win over my heart because she never turned back to respond my good bye. I was a bit shattered.


“Dude, I gave her my number”

I was pretty surprised…

“When ?”

Sandip tossed his hair with a style

“Remember , I borrowed her Film Fare, while returning her I had jotted down my number on the last page”

I pinched him hard and cursed myself on my sad presence of mind.

“You moron…Bloody you are a pro in wooing girls”


*************************************************************************************

It was 7:30 PM and it was Saturday. I was getting lots of applause from the audience and from my friends for a wonderful piece of Salsa performance. I was euphoric as my friends kept congratulating me again and again.

“Rohit”

“Just a minute”, I answered as about sip the free wine in celebration.

“Rohit”,

I felt a tap on my shoulder and this was not a normal stroke. It was well manicured hand with a tiny piece of pearl sitting on the middle figure.

Yes , it was Shweta… I was surprised as I gave her a very gentle hug.

“Your clue was very obvious Rohit…

Kyra theatre….

Thurdsay…..

7Pm ”

You are not such a jerk dude, as I initially thought”

And I said, “You are very smart and beautiful too”

She blushed as she uncurled her numerically twice dangling strands.

We both then strolled towards the dining lounge waiting for each other to speak.


Trying to break the silence, I asked

“By the way, did you call Sandy?”

“Ohh Sandy , your friend who tried his best to line me?
But I don’t have his number…”

“Hey but he told me he scribbled it in the last page of film fare”

Shweta gave a huge smile and she laughed her heart out as if I cracked a quirky joke. I patted my back for my IMPROVED Sense of humour.

“No wonder my papa had slashed the last page of the Film fare, and I thought he had an hot shot on Mallika Sherwat”

I giggled too…The joke was worth laughing…We then feasted on the best lip smacking dish of the Kyra and the smoothest sparkling Wine.

“By the way, you know something?”

“What ?”

“Your father has a hot shot on Mallika Sherwat?, I can tell you”

“and how do u know?”

“Every men in love does that”

“Youuuu…..”, and she chuckle and giggled, came v close to me and hit me naughtily with the tissue paper….

I gave her the tightest hug of the world

She closed her eyes…

I kissed her…