When I was 17,
I lost my red-coloured pen.
But I saw it twice before I totally
forgot about it.
Once, It was during biology class.
My pen was struck between the fingers
of the blue-eyed guy of fourth bench.
I did not ask him.
I did not want to ask him.
Second time, I saw it on the last day of
School.The same guy.He was busy stuffing
Some papers into his bag.
My pen was caught between his lips.He
held it so gently as if it is the most fragile thing in the world.
I smiled.
That was the last time I saw him and my pen.
13 years flew just like that....
A reunion...that day.
A lot had changed except that huge iron
gate. 13 years changed everybody.
The arena was filled with families and
memories.
Gia was already dozing in my arms.
It was like a time travel.
A voice shook me...
" Aunty!"
She was a cherub.A little grown kewpie doll.
" Appa asked me to give this to you".she stuffed something in my hand and ran in a jiffy.
Her blue eyes spoke the unspoken words.
My Red coloured pen in my hands.
I smiled.
Every woman has an untold story....❤️
