Gazing out of the rusted window years later, he realised that it wasn't late even then, but instincts, I believe take the upper hand. Driven by the human instincts and somethings that were special only to him, four more years passed silently again, cosy and comfortable in the tranquility of the breeze.
His dad cried that day, he consoled him with words that made no sense when he realised what he said years later. He told his dad that all people are laughing inside, they are all in a party. Who was laughing inside? Answer, Nobody. It dawned again but with no difference, as sultry as the previous day. He was tired of all this, and he didn’t remember too when he forgot about that. Signs of the clouds getting ready to pour out were too evident and the dullness that was in the atmosphere already, added to it
They were so engrossed in the game, they didn't know what happened around. He was in a vantage position in the game. She was in her early twenties, love in her lips, dark hair, plaited carelessly, the eyes that always searched something (she never got what she searched for till the end), the mole on her breast, a slender curve, herself. She sat there, legs crossed to one side and head hung towards the ground bashfully. He didn’t know when the sky rumbled and she didn't know when the drizzling started, droplets adorning her taut, fair skin like pearls on a satin sheet.
From the window, he could see the hustle-bustle of the squirrrels as they ran seeking shelter, predicting the rain. A distant familiar sound, the evening prayer was heard from the darga which was situated not very far from the room where he standing. He stood still, feeling very much safe inside his room, not safe from the rain but safe from people, safe from his friends, safe from his 'Elders'. The butterflies and moths disappeared, the winds grew stronger and the few people on the road started walking faster.