One evening, as Zephyrine and I sat atop a hill, overlooking the town, the wind played its familiar symphony around us. It rustled through the wheat, the stalks bending lazily in the wind. I marvel at the grains, each one rough edge distinct.
I pull Zephyrine closer and whisper, "I've always believed in the magic of India. The wind has a way of carrying a million hearts together." I smiled as she leaned against me.
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Must Have Been The Wind
Teen FictionAmidst the symphonies of honking horns and street vendors calling out their wares, the wind was the reigning prom-queen. In the scorching heat of summer, the wind was only an occasional visitor. I watched as the townspeople, no longer fanning their...
