Category: Short Stories

She opened the door with the most spectacular smile pasted on her lovely face. Her wet ringlets nuzzled her shoulders, while her body-con dress hugged her supple skin. She wrapped me in her embrace, letting her perfume spray onto my shirt. She then took my hand and ushered me into her house.
“Why don’t you freshen up while I prepare dinner? You probably had a long day!” She suggested while readjusting her place.
I responded with a smile and headed towards the washroom with my clothes. The tiring day was worth the soothing shower. It took me quite a while to realise that I was putting in extra efforts to groom my body.
The aroma of all my favourite dishes hit me as soon as I stepped out.
“Oh! That was quick. Come sit down. I will serve you.”
“Alright!”
She took the seat that was diagonal to me and then tried to engage me in small talk. She asked me about my day, the people I talked to and everything else she could think of.
Maybe she was just as nervous as I was. I dusted that thought at once and shifted my attention to the remaining portion on my plate.
‘Just one spoon left now. Then she’s all yours.’ The devil inside me was now lurking around. However, I managed to cover it with an overly sweet mask. I took charge of clearing the table and volunteered to help with the dishes as well.
Once everything was done, she suddenly got this urge to dance with me. I also gave into her odd request, owing to the fact that the music she had selected was pretty sensual.
‘Relax dude. You’ll get to lay your hands on her skin sooner this way,’ I assured myself while swaying her around the room. But amidst all of that movement, I found myself stuck there in the moment. I was enjoying it.
I let her spin again, but she didn’t return to me this time. Instead, she proceeded towards the bathroom, leaving me with wild guesses. Without giving it a second thought, I entered her bedroom and yanked my t-shirt.
I sprawled on her bed and awaited her presence next to me.
My waiting came to an abrupt halt as she climbed onto the bed and threw her arms around me.
But something felt odd. We weren’t skin to skin. Something was obstructing our friction.
It was her clothes- a loose t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants; to be more accurate. While I was trying to process the reason as to why she had her clothes on, she buried her face beside my chest. I couldn’t tame my heartbeats, but her eyelids managed to catch up to its rhythm as if it were some sort of lullaby.
Now we were just lying. Lying together. In total darkness, but with kindling souls. Perhaps only God knew the science behind our blaring yet resting bodies.
All I could comprehend was that my days would always end with wanting to sleep with her again. And again.

“And folks, that’s how she turned into my ex-girlfriend,” I concluded while raising a toast with one hand and claiming her with the other.

When it came to flirting with girls, I was never behind in the race. I would usually engage in healthy and casual chats. None of my previous girlfriends approved of this behaviour of mine and of course, it was reasonable from their perspective. It’s not like they were winter girlfriends to me. I pretty much felt that they would last. My intention was never to hurt them or appear disloyal, as I did put in efforts to maintain those relationships. However, all my attempts would go in vain. They all left me, but that didn’t put a stop to what I enjoyed doing. Not even when I met a gullible and feeble girl, who felt everything with depth, that the person in front of her would melt down completely. I was a somewhat exception to this aura of hers, and somewhere I felt that in the end, she would turn out to be another future ex-girlfriend of mine.
She was well acquainted with my playful nature and seldom complained about the same. From what I can recall, she did touch the topic once briefly, and after noticing that I brushed it off, she chose to stay quiet.
She had more or less realised that it was a part of who I was. We had lasted for about four years. But everything came to a stop when my folks felt that I should settle down, but not with that girl. It was her docile nature that was working against her.
I agreed to their wish, but what bothered me was breaking the news to her. Her heart was too delicate to listen to something of this sort. I loved her immensely, but I couldn’t put her above my family.
A week later I decided to update her with what was going on, on my side. She didn’t accept it at first, but when it finally sunk in her head, she started sobbing. I touched her shoulder as a gesture to pacify her, but she twitched, letting my hand hover in the air. After about five minutes of having a breakdown she wiped her face thoroughly and cleared her throat and proceeded to say something.
“Okay. I won’t force you to marry me, but can I ask one small thing from you?”
“Of course. What is it?” I replied with the most laid back tone.
“Umm, will you sleep with me just once?”
I was startled by her request, as it wasn’t something that she would want to get herself into. Maybe she just wasn’t in her senses due to my decision. So I decided to do a quick recheck.
“You mean like a one night stand?”
“Yeah.” She responded with an expressionless face.
I again asked her if she was sure, to which she simply nodded.
“Okay then. As you wish.”
We quickly planned out the day and timings and everything else that was required for us to be together for that one night. It was scheduled for the next evening at her place.
The day at the office seemed longer than usual, and when the clock finally struck 5, I didn’t waste even a second in any other errand. I grabbed my car keys, my laptop bag and another bag that contained the rest of my belongings while experiencing an adrenaline rush.
My heart resisted calming down even as I approached the porch. I rang the doorbell, and that alone was enough to increase my anxiousness.
The air felt scented; the sun smiled; the dried leaves added to the mysterious commotion- all in awe of her appearance.

<To be continued...>

Sleep with me (Picture credits: Unknown; Source: We heart it)

Jane was busy doing a blog tour to find some inspiration from a fellow blogger. She had done such tours before, but always failed in finding a blog that was similar to her niche- a creative blog. And when she would succeed in doing so, the blog author would be on a hiatus or would’ve shifted from the blogosphere.
However, that day turned out to be her lucky day! She stumbled upon something really unique- an igloo on a beach! Her blog’s lucidity and breathtaking photographs got Jane hooked to it.
Jane instantly felt connected to its author and decided to initiate a chat with its owner; a trendy eskimo named Alaska.
Now any visitor of such a beautiful site would’ve found the owner easy to talk to and fairly approachable and Jane also concluded the same. After a few months of discovering that same blog, Jane attempted to strike a conversation with Alaska on of her blog posts.
Alaska seemed natural, but somewhere Jane felt that that she wasn’t that interested in speaking to her. Or maybe her trait of not being able to make friends came in the way of an almost blossoming friendship. Jane didn’t give up though. She still continued being her genuine self and made efforts to come in her notice.
Alaska would text her once in awhile and then disappear into her shell. She would say she’s busy, but deep down Jane felt that maybe she wasn’t worthy enough to be a friend to Alaska.
This exchange of messages went on for about ten months, and on one particular day their talks didn’t seem to end. It went on and on, and much to Jane’s surprise, Alaska gave her email address, so they could contact more frequently and conveniently. At that moment, Jane felt delighted that someone had put enough faith in her to give away such details.
Alaska was young and full of life, and some of her positivity rubbed off on her. It made Jane realise that someone younger could definitely be wiser, and provide one with a valuable lesson of life.
Their path of friendship sought quite a few phases like keeping in touch, building trust and eventually confiding in each other. They came across nearly every possible topic to discuss on, and even now they don’t run out of any!
With just a matter of time and a sincere struggle to create a bond, Jane had finally located her Alaska.

 

Happy birthday, Ragini!

“I…I…ran away. I am lost, betrayed,” she said peeping over the lady’s shoulder, “and hungry.” Waliyha fumbled as she started her explanation, but then blurted the rest out in a rush. After a few minutes, she realised that she had given away her dignity along with her story. The woman in front of her, in spite of being old and poor now had the power to label her.
However, when the lady grabbed her into a hug, every nerve of her brain remained perplexed. She took Waliyha inside and treated her as if she was her own child. She served her with whatever she had and made sure that she drank the whole glass of water.
Being from a small household, the lady had to seek permission from her man to let Waliyha stay in their house for some time. The man didn’t show any trace of objection, but when Waliyha stated that her parents had strong connections, the couple got a little worried, for the whole matter would definitely involve the police. And at the back of her mind, even Waliyha knew that her plan would have backfired and the police would be on the lookout for her.
Waliyha felt guilty seeing them tensed, and out of that guilt constructed another lie. She gave them a false address, and without questioning her much, they dropped her off there, not knowing that Waliyha was leading herself up the garden path!
Waliyha looked on, as the couple proceeded towards their home, and as soon as they were out of sight, she took an about turn, and made herself get lost in the town. She walked in circles, trying to find herself in all that chaos. Just then, a taxi driver pulled in front of her, assuming that she needed a ride. At first, she thought of asking him to drop her at the sea, but then she changed her mind by reviving some hope. By now the bunch of cash had turned into a few noisy coins. So, she asked him the directions to the nearest PCO.
He didn’t pick up.
‘Well that was obvious,’ She tried to reason with herself.
As she continued to walk, she felt someone follow her. She felt it was just her imagination, but when she felt a tap on her shoulder she began weeping, as a result of her reflexes going all haywire. She turned around and saw that it was a boy, but it wasn’t him.
“You’ve run away from home, right?” He asked exactly what was obvious to him.
“What’s it to you? Mind your own business!” Waliyha rebuked at him.
He didn’t take her bitter words too seriously, and said, “I have some work for you.”
Waliyha looked up with a spark in her eye, but swiftly looked down, realising his intentions.
She ran from that spot, and found herself in front of a school. She begged the guard to let her in.
He noted that she was about to pass out, and then agreed to keep her in. He took her to the servant’s quarter, gave her a glass of water and an apple that he had bought for himself, and told her that the principal would come and talk to her in a few minutes.
Later, a lady entered that room, leaving Waliyha surprised. It was her aunt, and only her aunt who had come to pick her up. She presumed that her parents had disowned her.
Waliyha and her aunt both cried a puddle of tears as they gazed at each other.
Her aunt accompanied her till her doorway, and then let her face the consequences by herself. Waliyha stared at her parent’s feet, while walking in with baby steps. But her dad ran towards her and held her in his arms, without speaking a word. Her mother also burst out in tears, with a billion emotions filling her heart.
They didn’t question her, but the police had to do their duty. They began their interrogation, but Waliyha didn’t have the heart to get the boy in trouble, even after knowing that she had been blamed for the whole matter. What bothered her was his motives. She just wanted an answer as to why he did what he did. But she couldn’t, as now her phone was being tracked every moment.
Today, all her parents want from her is that she should be able to stand on her feet, with her head held high.
A random stranger’s door had opened for her, the door she had locked, still welcomed her with open arms, and moreover, she had unlocked the door of her parent’s hearts.

THE END
*This was based on a true story. Names and other information were altered for privacy reasons.

Now an open book (Picture credits: Unknown; found on We heart it)

The note

Waliyha waited, waited and simply waited. She was certain that he would come to receive her. But, what toggled with her mind was the fact that her mother would panic on not finding her and would subsequently begin searching for her.
Her brain was quick to come up with a plan to stop that from happening. She fished out a pen from her bag while clutching onto her mobile with her free hand and then shoved her bag behind the bushes, taking care to make it as undetectable as possible. Then, she sprinted through several dark alleys that happened to be a shortcut to her home. Her mother was still oblivious of her whereabouts, as the lights were still off. The only thing that surprised her was her Dad’s car parked in the driveway. Maybe he had arrived just to go back to another foreign trip. She swiftly bolted the door, and then looked around for a scrap of paper. Once she found a doable piece, she scribbled down a message that read out her not wanting to be found or contacted.
She took a long sigh, tossed the note through the window of the dining area and made a beeline for the park. She kept a slow pace while going back, as her mind was at ease. In fact she was so relaxed that when she reached, her upper lashes fell gently over lower ones, lulling her to sleep. Her body was exhausted from all the inner commotion, but felt light like a feather. Soon enough, Waliyha was in a dream world, full of flowers, meadows and hearts.
Meanwhile, Waliyha’s mother got a typical womanly intuition that something was wrong. She got off her bed, and proceeded to check on her daughter for a change.
Little did she know that this move of hers would have a negative outcome. Waliyha’s absence shattered her completely. Her heart sunk, and so did the lower part of her body. She covered her mouth with her hands, trying to control a vomit of tears. Panicking wasn’t the solution, and it took Waliyha’s mother quite a few minutes to realise that. She alerted Waliyha’s father about the same. Contrary to her reaction, Waliyha’s father chose to maintain his calm. He thought she would have been at a friend’s place. But then his eyes caught the crumpled up note left by Waliyha. He tried his best to keep his calm even at this point and look for solutions. However, when they headed to do the needful, they realised that they had been locked in.
It was five in the morning, when Waliyha’s parents had received some help. At the same time, the morning rays stroke Waliyha’s cheeks and she woke up only to find no sign of the boy. She checked her phone again and again, even though it wasn’t on silent mode. Her battery was dying and so were her hopes for a happier and better future. But she still continued to dial his number, while walking towards nowhere. She had no idea where she was going. Her legs were shaking, but she still stuck to the path of being lost, till a bus had come to her rescue. She requested the driver to drop her at a chapel, where she could stay safely. The driver agreed very kindly, and drove her down in a matter of few minutes. Several people ogled at her as she entered the home of God.
Now that Waliyha’s parents were free, they began searching for her in nearby places, but failed miserably. They then decided to report this matter in the police station. They tried to trace her sim, and instantly got suspicious of the number that was dialled repeatedly. The police officials called him up and interrogated him about the matter. But, he denied even knowing her! And when they threatened him further, he finally revealed everything, except for the truth. His version of the story turned Waliyha into the culprit.
The assigned policemen had managed to find a social media profile of Waliyha, and before they could gain access to her account, the boy crept into it and deleted every possible evidence.
Just as Waliyha had made peace with her safe zone, the caretakers of the chapel asked her to leave as they had to clean the place. Waliyha moved at once, thinking that if she didn’t they would inform the police. Her eyes were shielded with tears, as she walked towards a playground that was being used by a bunch of carefree children. Returning home wasn’t an option for her, as she felt that her parents would never forgive her, and staying outside meant a struggle for survival.
She perched on the stairway and noticed an old lady cleaning her front yard. Waliyha held her stomach, wishing that her hunger and thirst would miraculously disappear. She walked up to the lady and asked her for a glass of water. The lady stared at Waliyha and then her suitcase alternatively with a look of scepticism.
“Who are you? And what are you doing here?!” She questioned Waliyha sternly. Waliyha was tensed. For a moment she forgot who she was and what was going on with her. The woman preserved her firm look while a thousand and one thoughts crossed Waliyha’s mind.
She gulped down the little saliva that circulated around her mouth, and finally uttered, “I…”

Somewhere, but nowhere (Picture credits: Eleanor Hardwick; found on Google)

We all have secrets; some we bury, some we burn, some we confide and some just linger on until we find an antidote for the venom it spreads. And so was the case with Waliyha. She was a regular girl, like you and me. But fate couldn’t disagree more.
Waliyha belonged to a well-off family, and with that being said, time was a major factor in her life. Well, her time waited unlike that of her kin. Her mother would go to work and her dad focused on his trips abroad, while she would stay at a daycare centre. She didn’t realise that she was “promptly dumped” till her friends pointed it out.
“Hey, Waliyha! How come your parents never pay a visit?”
“Don’t they love you?”
“Are they really your family?”
These questions would haunt her even in broad daylight. However, this series of having to bear such uncomfortable questions came to a halt once she found her love. Yes, of course, there was a catch. It wasn’t the love she was craving for, but it indeed succeeded as an alternative.
It was a charming boy she had stumbled upon while roaming about the mall with her friends. And it was he who had made the first move. They exchanged numbers in no time and soon drove along the lane of a relationship.
Even though Waliyha had turned eighteen, she had been pulled into the hits and trials of life again. The lad was a radio jockey and a newscaster. And in spite of belonging to an upper-class family, Waliyha still had to live up to his fancies. He wanted money, and Waliyha took it as his need. Nobody knew for what. She didn’t bother to question him either. She simply opened her mother’s safe, grabbed her jewellery and sold it off, to meet his supposed needs.
Her friends would suggest her to pamper him with gifts and treats, and she readily borrowed the idea.
That wasn’t enough for him. He wanted more entertainment in his life. He began asking for inappropriate pictures of her, to which she gave in.
And when it came to eloping with him, she didn’t have a second thought about it.
“Would you run away for me?” He asked one night, making sure that he serenaded her while asking.
“Just say it once, and you’ll see.”
Mr Radio Jockey took the hint and replied by saying, “Now. Do it now.”
That’s all it took to convince Waliyha. She packed her belongings in a jiffy and held her cell phone and a bunch of cash in her clammy hands.
It was past midnight when Waliyha was all set to leave. She ran out and headed for the park where they would have their usual meetups.
Her running awoke the spirit of the stray dogs. They chased her down till a few cars diverted their attention.
It had been an hour by this time. All the commotion had drained her completely, so she decided to sit on a bench and wait for her love.
Tring Tring. Tring Tring. Tring Tring.
The phone sang while her heart got drenched with sweat from the inside. There was no answer. And after another try, his phone wasn’t reachable.
She thought of it as a network problem. The naive Waliyha remained heedless of the fact that she was asked to run for him, and not with him.

With the rustling leaves whooshing down the woods and the snowman being bubbly as ever, the spirit of Christmas stroked my cheek, but my skin didn’t react to it. The whole world seemed like a moving graphic, playing on repeat numerous times and foxing my mind even further. It all didn’t matter anymore. My world had already collided with the sun, only to become a lesser known source of light.
I perched on my verandah in spite of the biting cold and hugged my knees with my arms to gain a little comfort. My tea had turned cold amidst all that contemplation. Of course I could have made another one, or just warmed it, but I went inside and chucked it down the basin.
“Why did you do that?” I heard a voice, similar to his whisper. I turned around to see a man about his size standing with folded arms and grinning as if he’d been caught for a prank.
I avoided his question and went to my room. He was probably one of the many guests I had at my place. I never interacted with any of them. They always found a way to annoy me. Guests are called guests for a reason; they are supposed to comprise of only a few minutes of your life and not take up residence in it, however abstract life may be.
A lifeless thing such as my room comprehended me, or at least happened to be a shoulder to me. So, I went to sit by the window sill and tried to complete my drafts. It was the only thing that kept me going. My journal consisted of souvenirs of our meetings, and every time I looked at that them, my eyes would well up. That didn’t stop me from reliving those moments. I traced the four-leafed clover he had gifted me, with three-fourth of my skin and the remaining one-fourth with my sweater’s extended sleeve. I went into a trance as his memories flooded my thoughts.
Just then, a purposeful cough startled me. It was him. Again. I looked away instantly, trying my best to go back to my daydream. He just smirked at my actions and came and sat next to me. He looked here and there and then tried to make eye contact with me. He would incline his head towards the side I would turn. When I finally looked towards him, he let out a laugh. I didn’t join his laughter. It didn’t seem right to laugh. Just the thought of it made me feel guilty. It was like enjoying his absence.
“Stretching your sleeves is much more effective than wearing gloves, right?” He made another attempt to make me laugh to which my sole reflex was pulling the sleeves of my sweater back, and subsequently reaching for my cuffs.
Now this young man in front of me started fiddling with my things. I was supposed to have flared my nostrils or at least snap at him. But, I didn’t. Something was seriously wrong with me. I normally wouldn’t stand an outsider touching my things without my permission. Maybe he wasn’t an “outsider.” I dusted that thought away and questioned my own sanity.
“Is that your guitar?” He asked, raising one of his eyebrows; the left one to be exact. I nodded a yes, expressionlessly.
“Then do you play?” He interrogated.
“No. Not anymore.” I somehow managed to utter a couple of words.
He went ahead and picked it up. “Well, this is quite dusty,” he spoke, not expecting a reply. He wiped off the dust with his undershirt, and then came towards me with the guitar.
“Hey listen, I am aware of your loss. I can see it in your eyes.” My eyes popped out at that statement.
“No, not really. Your mother told me,” he said, without batting an eyelid to his own witty remark. But his former sentence gave me some encouragement to take things off my chest.
“Well, it all happened last Christmas.” Something or rather someone was making me feel at ease while talking about it.
Instead of asking me more about it, he simply strummed the guitar strings in a melodramatic tone, but then gestured me to continue my story.
“This guitar was actually a gift from him. And he used to teach me. Whatever little I know, it’s through him. But I have lost the courage to play it again. He would often tell me about his dream girl, and I slowly fell in love with him. That gave me an idea to surprise him. I dressed like her on the day we were supposed to perform at the church. But just as I was about to run towards him, a truck…” I trailed off, and completely zoned out.
He kept his hand on my shoulder and said, “See, I know it’s not going to be okay, and I am not going to comfort you by saying that either. Just know that your life also has a purpose on this planet.” Then looking at the bizarre decorations around us; the grey wreath, the wilted holly leaves, and the worn out stockings, he sighed and after a brief pause spoke, “Just because one Christmas of yours turned around to be black, doesn’t mean you’ll paint every other Christmas of yours grey. At least make do with some white.”
My face turned into a scrabble board towards the end of his dialogue.
“Silly,” he continued,”I know it’s hard, but keep all those moments in your heart. Trust me, he’s there. No one is asking you to let go. Rather hold on tighter.”
I blinked at his wise words.
“And you are performing today. I will teach you a few easy tunes and you’ll do just fine.”
I neither agreed nor disagreed to that. I had put enough faith in his words to do whatever I was being told. The tunes he played were so captivating and soothing to the ear, and instead of complimenting his skills, I just blurted out a “You are so cool!”
He chuckled and said, “Well of course I am. Didn’t I tell you I belong to a hill station?” At this point, it seemed impossible to tame the slight curve of my lips.
“Oh and do wear that same outfit tonight. I am certain that you would have had to change last time.” He took a vow from me and got up to leave.
“Sure, as long as you dress like an elf.”
“Fine. I will do that.” He accepted my condition with a straight face and promised to be there while I performed. I took out that same white sweater, which was embroidered with several snowflakes and a pair of sky blue jeans to go with it and packed myself in it. Then, I stepped into my boots and put on a grey woollen cap. There. I was all prepared. I gathered all the strength I had and picked up the guitar to perform.
He had kept his word. He stood right next to Santa Claus and the other elves. The audience swayed to my music and my melodies just zoomed into the atmosphere awaiting feedback from the birds. I felt so energetic and revived. I felt like I was never really sad.
And as I finished, I searched for him in the crowd. He was nowhere to be found. He had taken my words literally.
Just. Like. He. Used. To.

White Christmas (Picture credits: Unknown; Source: We heart it)

“There he is Master,” I pointed towards a little boy. He simply nodded sideways to what I proclaimed. “He’s playing around the rainbow coloured swing in the courtyard.” Master’s brows twitched in unison. Even the slightest mention of colours agitated him. Rumours said that he was probably blind, but in fact it helped him conceal his soft side. Everyone thought of him as a cruel man, a sadist to be more precise.

The staccato accent of my pencil heels made quite a few heads turn towards my direction while I was hunting for something exotic. I was attired in a deep purple silken shift and accessorised with various trinkets, that manifested the apex of my career.
Haughty, snobbish and obnoxious were a few of my tailor-made nicknames, but it hardly mattered to me. The piece I longed for, wasn’t meant for any particular occasion but to be added to my wardrobe. Yes, a wardrobe is what I possessed, not a meagre cupboard.
I marched around the aisles of the most luxurious mall, in search of my desired outfit, but remained unsuccessful for a while till I got captivated by a dazzling piece of clothing. Before anyone could even think of suggesting something better, I jolted up to the person, who well looked like a salesman.
“Good evening ma’am. How can I help you?” His careful wording reflected his excellent training in the field of marketing strategy. I simply responded by pointing out to a figure made out of wax, which wore the dressing material I craved for. The tag on it read,”Priceless.”
“I’m sorry ma’am, you can’t have this,” proclaimed the courteous man. However, I didn’t pay any heed to whatever he stated and just went on scrutinising each and every pocket of my purse. I fished out a bunch of crisp notes and shoved it in his face.
The man gaped at my gesture and then swiftly put on a stern face. “Ma’am my sincere apologies. Actually, this piece has already been booked by someone else,” he said still trying to invoke a sense of chivalry in his voice. I was so habitual to a world that revolved around my whims and fancies, that this refusal nearly shrunk me to bits of my own self!
This short event agitated and aggravated me at the same time. I clenched my fists, dug my nails in my palms and stormed out of the store. As I stomped out, a quarter part of my body constantly held its gaze at the magnificent piece.
My limbs made a hasty about-turn and my fingers gripped the glass wall that showcased my yearned apparel. I slid my fingers up and down, in the hope of seizing it. The distal phalanges of my fingers smeared the glass wall, and while doing so I slowly sank to the floor. From a distance, it appeared as if I were performing a mime!
As I plonked myself, I could see the reflections of passers-by on the glossy ceramic tiles sneering and making a mockery out of me. I certainly wasn’t in a state to care enough for their attitude towards me. I kept gawking at my wish. No matter how hard I tried, the figure in front of me couldn’t belong to me. It was booked by someone else; someone who stood right next to it, holding its hand with immense love. They were two mannequins, namely Heart One and Heart Two.
I spread out both of my hands and used my thumbs and index fingers to form the shape of a triangle; a Devil’s Triangle. To my puzzlement, my left and right forefingers connected with ease, but my right thumb simply refused to adhere with the left one. The reason for the same was simple. Heart One and Heart Two had an ‘equal to’ sign between them, whereas what I had formed was just a broken instrument, called triangle.
I was head over heels in love with Heart One, but the gap that bridged us signified that all I could be was Heart Three. Heart One was clad in blue, and Heart Two in red.
And then there’s me, in purple, with nothing but bruises of being the third heart.

Three Dimensional Love (Picture credits: Unknown; Source: Piccsy)