She gasped for breath. The air was cold, a queer chill had started to grow on her. Like cold fingers, she felt beads of perspiration trickle down the nape of her neck, swirling, its way down her spine, collecting in the dents of her back. For a moment...
A Sanskaree ladki for my mum, a rebel to the world. I have this constant need to be someone I'm not. This space is where I come to be myself. I'm hoping to talk about topics that my peers would enjoy reading about. Much like my emotions, I try to conceal everything I write with humour. Reading pieces like this always seemed to make me feel better, so here I am, hoping to do the same.