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Should she leave him?



She threw her head back in sorrowful reprieve. The silver plaited sari glistened under her heavy drooping eye lashes that were fixated on an oblong shadow cast by the evening sun before her. Ensconced on a wooden chair, she aligned the folds of her deep red colored sari. While she was caught up in the wake of a gentle breeze that slipped a dry flake of dust into her eyes, a pair of golden yellow feet sneaked out from underneath the restrained flutter of her sari. Her long thick eye lashes beat incessantly and tears smudged the rosy cheek. Through the dilating pupils, the iris of her eyes dissolved the surroundings as she shaded her eyes with the back of her feather white palms.

Brushing his hair back and accentuating the furrow in the parted hair, a young lad in blue jeans and honey colored plain t-shirt noticed the silver white anklets that hugged the melancholic pair of sneaky feet and the lass in pain above for whom the feet belonged. In her undulating world, a pair of rugged army boots in turquoise color and tug boat nosed, approached her. The glass table before her propped the heavy army boots trampling on her reflection as the feet paused presently and produced her kerchief with a pair of hands. ‘Thank you…’ she wished to say more, but the wind swept her words away.

He had a broad face and oblong cheek bones, his thick black hair lay sonorously on both sides of the deep burrow that he parted methodically. He sat down on the chair before her; without the wink of an eye, he observed the hair on the back of her neck that she combed upwards into the braid. The lonely round mole on her milky white nape below the right ear mocked him as she flapped the kerchief to get rid of the dust. His initials were written on it.

Meanwhile, the wind picked up speed; it let loose plaits of her hair as she wrestled with the loose end of her sari’s embroidered hem that was stuck up under the leg of table. With one hand she tucked the loose hair around her ear lobes gently circling them up with her thumb and index finger, with another she tugged at the sari. Tears welled in her eyes, and she sobbed disconsolately. Clutching the torn end of the sari, she sank her face into the cusp of her pink flushed palms.

They had a row last night. She received an onsite offer. Should she leave him?

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