Rain drops are like love pattering on the window panes. Tara always believed what her mother had to say. If they were little dew drops, there was seemingly less love. She counted them one by one as they raced down the glassy passage.
It was a dark thundery night when she was sitting all by her own. Her little fingers traced the droplets again. But this time , she didn’t know why the drops had turned a mystical scarlet.


2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Mahesh Nair
    Oct 24, 2014 @ 16:54:11

    Beautiful post, and I love the conflict in the end 🙂

    Liked by 1 person


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