As she boarded the bus, she started reminiscing her journey. The looking-simple and uncelebrated service journey, just like of several other working women all across the nation,
I wanted to dance. Will it be just, I asked to myself. But Welding Kumar loves dancing. My brother didn’t dance in his cremation ceremony.
She sat in the Starbucks cafe, sipping her coffee and staring out of the window. The blood stained knife lay next to her handbag, covered with her blue silk scarf.