Thursday, April 30, 2015

Letters from nowhere: Part 7: Zestful

Letters from nowhere: Part 7/7: Zestful

On Thursday, the managing director apologized to Anne for categorizing her with Twinkle and praised her efforts in trying to solve the issue. The apology did marvels to her attitude towards her director. The grumpy pig was transforming for the better.

By Friday evening, the man showed marked improvements and even succeeded in making her laugh. He grinned seeing her laugh at a joke he had cracked and the grin proved lethal to Anne’s fluttering heart. The romantic in her terrorized her that she would fall in love with that grin and its owner. Chiding herself, she returned to her seat smiling like a fool. Stephen Winthrop appeared to be of her age. The man must be married. He would never look at her twice, if he knew what was on her mind.

In the evening, while having coffee in the nearby cafeteria, a waiter came in and gave her a box of chocolates. A Shmily coin was glued to the top of the box. Mr. Shmily was back in action. Together with it was a handwritten letter.

“Who gave you this?”
“Ma’am, a customer who left just now asked me to give you this.”
“Do you know him?”
“No ma’am... saw him for the first time today.”
Opening the letter, she read.

Come to your father’s house today at 8.00 pm. I will meet you there. I have already met your father twice and have made my intentions clear. I cannot go on playing this charade anymore. I need to tell you in person how ardently I love you.

Whoever this Shmily was, knew exactly who held her control button. Yes, she would go. She couldn't wait to meet the person who claimed that he loved her to bits.

With her heart doing a wild dance against her ribs, she pressed the bell on her father’s flat at 7.45 pm that day. Clara opened the door with a huge smile and hugged her warmly.

“We were waiting for you eagerly. Wait, he has gone down to get something for you,” said Clara, while her father beamed at her like a happy child.

Curbing her urge to make them reveal more about the person, Anne waited. Twiddling with her purse handle did not ease her mind nor did the ticking clock.

When the doorbell rang, Anne waited anxiously for the final reveal. A person carrying a huge bouquet came in. The size of the bouquet made it impossible for her to see his face, but the person was quite tall.

“Good evening sweetheart,” said the man, and with trembling hands, Anne took the bouquet from him. She gasped. Mr. Stephen Winthrop stood smiling at her.

“Sir, you…,” mumbled Anne and staggered. Two strong hands that wound around her, steadied her.

“Sebastian, you wanted to see that painting I had completed, didn’t you?” cried Carol. Within seconds, she and her scheming father scooted out of the flat, leaving Anne with Stephen in the flat.

Months of reading his thoughts had made her feel like she knew him. An event-filled week that had slowly thawed her dislike for her arrogant managing director made her welcome the warmth of his hands and she blushed when he gathered her into a hug.
Stephen professed he had fallen in love with her at a company get together party, three months ago. He had not approached her, being an introvert, but had started to study her.

“I had read that Shmily story online and whenever I thought about someone whom I could love like that, your face popped into my mind. Wanting to know you, I created that email id and started mailing you. But you never responded. That was when I decided to come to Bangalore,” said Stephen.

“But you never acted as though you liked me. In fact, you blasted me on that first day,” said Anne.

“Sorry for that. It was all a mistake. My enquiries in and around Bangalore during my first week here had revealed that Twinkle was behind the shady dealings. I suspected you were in league with her. And that nearly killed me,” said Stephen, squeezing Anne’s hand apologetically.

Anne fondly looked at the man in front of her and mouthed ‘It is okay’.

“Will you marry me, Anne? Make me the happiest person in the world,” asked 

Stephen, sinking onto the floor on one knee. After remaining mute for a whole minute owing to his sudden request, she whispered a hoarse “Yes”.

When Stephen slipped a shining platinum ring on her ring finger, Anne wiped the happy tears that were flowing out.

Her father and Carol, who must have been listening at the door, barged in showering their happiness on the happy couple.

Gone were her insecurities and gone were her fears, something about the man who stood near told her that there were rainbows ahead.

The End.

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Letters from nowhere: Part 6: Yucky yet...

Letters from nowhere: Part 6/7: Yucky, yet...

Monday arrived and so did a new tormentor in her life. Though he looked like a Greek god, he turned out to be grouchy and refused to listen to her explanations about the consignment fiasco.

“Miss Anne, it would have been better if we had not left the company to the mercy of females like Twinkle and you. Please keep yourself busy with your other works. We have appointed other people to look into the matter. You need not rack you sleeping grey cells over it,” Stephen Winthrop screamed at her. Anne left his office with her hands itching to wring the arrogant neck of the grumpy pig.

A mail from Shmily awaited in her inbox. She clicked on it muttering the vilest curses.

Lovely Anne,
How are you today, dear? Seeing you every day is sheer torture.

Fuming, Anne hit on the reply button.

Who are you, you BASTARD?
Why are you torturing me? Apart from you, god has added a grumpy pig of a boss to the list of people who have set out to make my life a living hell.
You are wasting your time on me. You cannot woo me with roses or Shmily coins. Please leave me alone.
 Or else I will approach the cyber police.

After clicking on the send button, Anne regretted it. The only person who was sending happy mails to her these days was Shmily and she had vented all her anger on him. But he deserved it, didn’t he?

A mail pinged the next moment and it was again from Shmily.

I think I should thank your grumpy boss for driving you mad. Though I received the brunt for it, I am happy you replied to my mail. Excited... :)

Anne hit on the reply button and typed.

Ok...Join the gang and may be you all will succeed in making me mad. What is it that makes you think that I enjoy being stalked? No sane girl will. Please understand.
If you truly love me, tell me that in person. Please keep things sane. I am going mad.

Shmily fell silent but her grumpy Managing director continued to shoot mails requesting data and she spent the rest of the day browsing through the various folders compiling the data he had requested.

By Tuesday, Anne was seriously deliberating on quitting the job. The Managing director had heaped queries on her. He asked her to explain things of which she had no idea about. She squirmed unable to face his interrogation. Hadn’t he asked her to concentrate on just her work? The man truly needed someone to tighten the nuts of his brain.

Wednesday dawned with the news that the absconding supplies manager had surfaced at the MD’s office. After a long round of questions by a group headed by the MD, the man had turned the whistleblower. Twinkle, the previous managing director had amassed profits by allowing cheap materials to replace the standards set by Arianna. She had a long string of supporters in the company who divided the profit among themselves. The practice had begun years ago and the rejection of a consignment had grabbed the attention of the top management. 
Anne heaved a sigh of relief.

To be continued...

Read next Part here

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

First Chapter of my Novel: Without You

Chapter One
“The earth has music for those who listen.” 
 George Santayana

2010, June 20, Sreepuram

Returning to the place, which your heart loves to call home, is always ecstatic.
 The euphoria that was brewing inside me gushed in rhythm with the waves of the Arabian Sea that caressed Sreepuram along its western border, humming its monsoon-symphony. It may have sounded cacophonic and eerie to an outsider. For me, it was the rhythm divine.
Though God threw Adam and Eve out of Eden, he created many slices of heaven on earth. One of those heavenly slices was Sreepuram. With ponds, hillocks, coconut palms, extensive paddy fields and the Arabian Sea that sung lullabies, Sreepuram was a traveler’s dream. Even after the sun dived into the ocean after experimenting with myriad shades and hues on the horizon, many a traveler hesitated to move away from its serene beach. Every season brought out a different shade of beauty in my Sreepuram.

Opening the car windows, I breathed in the smell of freshly bathed soil with relish. The grey sky showered its greetings with tiny droplets that tickled and thrilled, while trickling down my extended palm. My heart joined in the celebration, meting out an ecstatic drum roll. A whole month in Sreepuram, while it looked radiant in rain drenched green. My prayers had at last come true after three long years. My hectic engineering course had chained me to Bangalore during all my previous semester breaks with exams, assignments, and site visits. Every summer, I missed Sreepuram. 
By the time our car entered the courtyard of Grandmother’s house, the rain had strengthened. Grandmother, whom I called Ammamma, was waiting on the porch with an ear-to-ear grin. Even in this pouring monsoon, she appeared bright like a daisy on a sunny day, dressed in her spotless white cotton sari with her silver hair neatly pulled into a bun.
The moment the car stopped in the outer courtyard, I darted towards her, unmindful of the rain pouring down. How could I resist a chance to embrace the rain?
Grandma received me with a hug but immediately chided me.
 “Oh Anu, you never change, do you? Running around like a whippet,” she said, inspecting my rain-kissed curls.
“Come on Ammamma, don’t scold. Couldn’t resist the temptation,” I said, and she tweaked my ears playfully for the crime committed by my tongue.
 Following the aroma of the freshly made coffee that wafted in, to the dining room I went. Inspecting the casseroles, I found what I expected - Appam, the soft rice pancake with lacy edges and a soft center, along with chicken curry. The chicken curry lured me with its heavenly aroma of spices cooked with the flavor of fried onions, garlic, ginger, tomato, and cilantro in coconut milk. The sight elicited a growl from my stomach.
“Ammamma, my stomach is rioting. Titanic can sink in my mouth now if it tried. The appam and chicken curry is so alluring. Let me start my attack,” I declared, pulling back the chairs, ready to devour as many Appams as possible.
“You crazy girl, you look like a wet hen. Go dry your hair and change your clothes. You can commence your attack then,” Grandma said, closing the casseroles back.
“Ammamma, please, let me first fill my tummy.” I tried one last time in vain.
After a speedy dress change into dark blue Capri pants and a white top with lace trimmings, I sat down to calm my raging hunger.
“Mmmmm, what an appam Ammamma!! If you had given this to Shakespeare, he would have written a thousand sonnets about it,” I said, with closed eyes, while the appam dipped in spicy chicken curry romanced my taste buds.
She chuckled but urged me to finish eating and then talk. I obeyed her without much ado.

It was almost twilight. The sun had begun to wane its lights and a cool zephyr brought in the fragrance of blooming jasmines. The peel of the bell broke the silence, which had slowly settled in, after the initial hustle and bustle of vessels.
“Ah, who could that be?” asked Grandma getting up to answer the door.
“I will check, Ammamma, it might be the kids,” I said, referring to the kids’ gang, which gave me company during the holidays. I washed my hands and rushed to open the door.
Instead of the gang, a stranger stood on the portico with a small polythene bag in his hands. A salesperson, I assumed, inspecting the smartly dressed young man.
“Yes?” I asked, summoning up my most apathetic look.
“Isn’t Arundhati aunty here?” he asked. So Ammamma was the one he sought. Was he a publisher or a journalist?
My grandmother, Arundhati Mukundan was an award winning poet and author. After my grandfather’s death seven years ago, she had gone into depression. Later on, one of my aunts had discovered a collection of poems Grandma had penned during her hours of darkness. After much coercing from her children, she had agreed to publish them. Her book had become an instant best seller and won the state award for literature that year. She had now added two more poem collections and a semi-autobiography to the list. Hence, publishers and journalists visited often.
“And you are?” I asked smiling at him. Before he answered, Grandma entered the portico to check up on the caller.
 “Oh Arjun, It is you! Come in. So nice to see you again,” said she with a huge smile on her face. The stranger’s face too had lit up with a bright smile.
“I came to give you these tablets. They are from Vishal,” said the stranger passing the small carry bag to her.
 The names Arjun and Vishal combined, rang a bell inside my brain. This is Arjun?! If I had it right, he was my cousin Vishal’s best friend, Dr. Arjun. The one who had been Vishal’s strength during the tense hours when Uma aunty, Vishal’s mom had underwent a critical operation to remove her inflamed gall bladder. The one whom Vishal said he trusted with his life. Arjun was the one who took over the routine checkups of Grandma, whenever Vishal was unavailable. Grandma had talked much about how well behaved and loving he was. Combined with Vishal’s bragging about his friend, the result was that I had developed an insane crush on him. Yes, without ever having beheld him. My interest in the visitor piqued a thousand times.

Standing before me was an immensely handsome youth. His hair was perfectly in place, his shirt without any creases even though it was late in the evening and his trousers perfectly fitted his long athletic looking legs. His dark brown eyes, thick eyebrows, chiseled features, athletic body, and whitish complexion gave him the look of a Greek god. Even though I was 5’ 5”, I felt like a dwarf standing in front of him. Someone straight out of those romance books that I had read. Any sane girl would have fallen for him instantly if she were in my place. I was of course, sane.

“Thank You, Arjun. It is for Devi, my housekeeper Gopu’s wife. She had a headache and Gopu had gone to Bangalore. I was expecting Vishal to bring it. Been weeks he has dropped by,” she said, while I continued my stealthy scrutiny from behind her.
“He was on his way here. An emergency case came and he had to return to the hospital. I was coming this way, so I offered to help,” explained Arjun.
“That was so nice of you, Arjun,” said Grandma.
“Who is this, aunty?” enquired Arjun, gesturing towards me.
“This is my granddaughter Ananya. Anu, this is Vishal’s friend, Dr. Arjun. He is also a neighbor now,” said Grandma, conducting a mutual introduction.
“Hello Ananya, nice meeting you,” said Arjun, with a smile.
Impressed, I bestowed on him my best smile and greeted him back with a mild ‘Hi’.
“What do you do?”
 “I am in the final year of engineering,” I said, and to my amazement, I was seized by a sudden attack of nervousness. Wasn’t it okay to be nervous when one was in the presence of one’s long time crush? Moreover, what a ‘crush’ it had turned out to be!
“Wow, Great!” he said.
“Come on inside son, have some tea.”
“No, Aunty. Thanks. I will leave now. Mum will be waiting,” said Arjun, walking down the portico steps. Huh, he couldn’t wait to escape!
Grandma and I watched as his white Toyota Corolla- pulled off from our gate, turned a corner, and moved out of sight.
 “You said he is our neighbor. When did that happen?” I asked, while we returned to the dining table to finish our tea.
“Do you remember that plot in the east, where that old shop used to be? They constructed a new house in its place two years ago. He lives there with his mother. Poor boy, his father passed away last year in an accident.”
 “But Ammamma, I remember you telling me that the plot belonged to a relative of yours, someone named Madhavan.”
“Yes, Yes, Rajashekhar, Arjun’s dad is his son. So we are distant relatives too,” said Grandma, helping herself to another cup of tea.

A group of three kids came in then, putting an end to our conversation by shouting, “Yippee…Anu is here,” and doing a sort of war dance around the table.
It was Anamika, Achyuth and Deepak, all three, members of my vacation gang. Anamika aka Ammu though only nine years old was the chatterbox of the gang. Achyuth aka Achu, her brother, older by three years was the genius of the group. Deepak their cousin was Achyuth’s age and looked almost like a twin to Achyuth.
“Anu, you have become so stylish and pretty! Just look at your hair. Wow, now you look like a cross between Aishwarya Rai and Madhuri Dixit,” declared Ammu, a big fan of Bollywood movies, walking around, and inspecting me closely.
I had allowed my short curly hair to grow out of its boyish bob-cut and had styled it last Christmas, in the layered style popularized by Madhuri Dixit. As my eyes were grayish green, similar to that of Aishwarya Rai, Ammu had given her verdict. I chuckled.
“Thanks cutie,” I said, and pinched her cheeks playfully making her squeal with laughter, “All three of you have grown so tall.”
These kids helped me re-live those days, when along with my four cousins, I had wreaked havoc in this place during our vacations. Though I had turned twenty last November, I loved being a child, which I became when I was with them.

With my cousins, Kishore, Navneeth, Naveen, and Vishal, all grown up and working, vacations had become a lonely affair, until I had found these kids for company during my school vacation six years ago. The time spent in Sreepuram had become fun again. At that time, Ammu was barely three. I took full advantage of being the eldest in the gang, cheated, and challenged them on adventures in which I was already an expert.
Being the lone girl among Grandma’s five grandchildren, I had done everything under the sun that elders insisted a girl should not do. I was a sprightly and mean thing according to my cousins. Nevertheless, we were always a team. We fought like cats but managed to love each other despite it. Even now when we were together, we were capable of bringing the roof down. Any place would instantly start to feel like home.
I had many nicknames, thanks to them.
I was ‘Cat’ owing to my gray eyes and sharp nails, name given by Kishore my eldest cousin.
Due to my pale skin and ability to climb compound walls, Navneeth had christened me ‘Lizard’.
The most popular name was ‘Monkey’ because of my prowess in climbing trees. Nobody could beat me in that.
They were the reason that I became a tomboy. I hated girly stuff and dressed in trousers and t-shirts just like them. My wardrobe had more jeans and t-shirts than churidars or skirts. Bless those, who started the trend of girls dressing up like boys!
In my engineering class, I was the odd one in a class overflowing with gorgeous girls. Did I regret that? No. Boys were better off as friends. They had no interest in me. It was not that I was ugly. Just that my lack of feminine graces drove them away. I was merely their tomboy friend with weird colored eyes.
“How long is your vacation this time, Anu?” Deepak’s question ended my reverie.
“I will be here till the 18th of July.” Enthusiastic cheers from the trio greeted my answer.
We spent the rest of the evening merrily exchanging news and I distributed the gifts that I had brought for them from Bangalore. Ammu squealed with delight when I gave her a box full of colorful hair clips and bindies in varied designs. Achyuth rushed out to fill his water gun from the courtyard pipe, which was his gift. I had brought a box of Oil pastels for Deepak. We shared a common passion for Arts. Grandma came out onto the portico then, where we had settled onto to the decorative wooden benches that bordered it, to break up the cozy get together.
“It is getting dark, kids. You can continue with your talks tomorrow. Anu is not going anywhere for the next one month. Run before your parents arrive with a stick.”
At the mention of their parents, they bundled out of our house chattering excitedly promising to come the next day.

The rest of the night passed in unpacking and settling into my room. Devi, Gopu’s wife, who was also the household help, had cleaned and prepared my room. The fragrance of Sambrani, a kind of incense, that she had lit to freshen up the room still lingered. The cupboards smelled of mothballs, the window curtains were new. The monsoons had cooled down the temperature and a thick blanket, folded into a perfect rectangle, lay at the foot of my bed. Grandma must have come to inspect the settings a hundred times, being a perfectionist. Her love was evident in every little thing that was present in the house. It was soothing to be back in the house. Something unwounded from within, the moment I entered it.
Right after dinner I fell into my bed exhausted, unaware of the twist my life was about to take.

Want to read more?

Letters from nowhere: Part 5: Xickovit

Letters from nowhere: Part 5/7: Xickovit

Anne kept the coin in her bag and tried to ignore the way her heart was thudding at her ribs. The romantic in her was demanding answers. The office boy confessed that it had come from the nearby flower shop. It had her name and designation written on it. 

Enquiries at the flower shop too lead to a dead end. A small girl had come in with the coin and the money to purchase the bouquet. The owner did not recognize the girl.

A mail from Shmily confirmed her doubt.

To my dearest,
You look adorable in red. Did you like the roses?

Anne shuddered. She was dressed in a red tunic top. This time she deleted the mail and emptied the folder she had created for Shmily. During the lunch hour, she called Gayathri, her classmate and vented her troubles.

“You deleted the mail? You should not have done that. Forward it to cyber police and they will find the person for you. By the way, why are you so tensed? It might be someone who has fallen in love with you. If I were in your place, I would have married the person by now. Why don’t you answer his mails? You will get to know the person,” said Gayathri.

“Gayu… the guy seems like a lunatic. Who will find me attractive? I am a giant, tall, broad and dark.”

“Stop criticizing yourself Anne. There are many who adore you. You are the only person who cannot stand your appearance. Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. Understand that. If someone finds you attractive, and goes to such extends of displaying his love, why can’t you admit that you are worth it? Break that impenetrable wall of despair you have built around you. Start believing people, Anne. Even the ugliest people in the world deserve love. Be kind to yourself and give yourself a chance,” said Gayathri.

Anne cut the call unable to speak anything. Had she really crawled into an impenetrable shell? Was she being prejudiced about her ability to find love?
The many mails from the head quarters made her forget about the rosy side of things and she immersed herself in work. The good news was that the enquiries inside the company had identified a certain supplies manager as the key to the low quality material used in the rejected consignment. The bad news was that he had gone missing. With him missing, there was no way they could find who else were involved in the murky business, which was threatening the reputation of the whole company.

The company sales had dipped to an all time low. The directors were furious. The new managing director had ordered Anne to mail scores of data about the various suppliers in Bangalore for their factory and their addresses.

The week passed rapidly but not without any incidence. Two more bouquets had come and this time she had allowed them to stay on her own desk. At least the flowers would lend a bit of colour to her dull existence. The coins had found way to her bag as usual.

Her promised visit to her father on Friday had to be cancelled owing to the many files that needed to be prepared for the new director who would take charge the following Monday.

To be Continued...

Read the next part of it here.

Monday, April 27, 2015

Letters from nowhere: Part 4: Whimsical

Letters from nowhere: Part 4/7: Whimsical

After her father cut the call, Anne ordered a pizza. While she waited, she logged on to the internet on her android phone.

A new mail from Shmily had popped up in her inbox.

Dear Anne,

I have landed in your city. With you here, I feel I have landed in paradise.
Until we meet.

Shaking her head, she transferred the mail to its usual folder. Who was this? It was true that she had started to like this person. Her disdain had not stopped him from sending the mails.

But Shmily, the name itself sounded fake. Was it an acronym or something?
Typing Shmily onto the search box on Google, she hit the search button. Contrary to her expectations, they were many links. The first link was that of a Intrigued, she clicked on it. The page told the story of an old American couple who were married for over half a century, and played their own special game from the time they had met each other. The goal of their game was to write the word "SHMILY" in a surprise place for the other to find. 
Their granddaughter started the website in their memory and it now sold SHMILY coins made of wood and many other goodies to lovers around the world.

The story touched her and reminded her of her own parents and the death of her mother. They too were madly in love with each other.

Anne stared at the screen with wide eyes when she saw the expansion of shmily. It was the acronym for See How Much I Love You.

See how much I Love You?!!… This was so corny.

Who was the insane person who had disguised himself under this acronym? Was he serious about being in love with her? If yes, why was he not revealing his identity? Did she seem unapproachable?

Next morning, on her desk a bouquet of pink roses awaited her. Pinned with it was a coin that said SHMILY, the same sort she had seen on the website.
Frustrated, Anne ringed for Sheila. She was equally puzzled but recognized the SHMILY coin.

“Who is this sweet person? How I wish I had someone to deliver such a bouquet to me,” said Sheila, with a sly smile.

“You keep it then. I don’t have time for such nonsense. My head is threatening to burst with the workload. And the new director...he will arrive only next Monday. I have to manage a whole week on my own,” said Anne, handing over the bouquet to Sheila.

“I’ll take the flowers. You keep the coin. See how much the person loves you,” said Sheila, and ran off fearing a hollering from Anne.

To be continued...

Read Part 5 here

Saturday, April 25, 2015

Letters from nowhere: Part 3: Vivacious

Letters from nowhere: Part 3/7: Vivacious

Anne had reached her flat, which was on the thirteenth floor and slumped onto the sofa, when her mobile rang. The caller was her father. With a smile, she answered the call.

“Anne…Is everything alright? You haven’t called me since Saturday. Are you not well?”

“No, Papa...Everything is all right. It is just that the workload is a little more. I am perfectly fine. I will visit you next weekend. Are you taking your medicines on time?”

“Yes…and that meddling neighbor whom you set to spy on me is checking day and night,” said Sebastian and his daughter chuckled remembering their sweet and caring neighbor Clara.

“I will tell you how you can get rid of her interrogations. Just marry her. Then at least I can sit peacefully here,” said Anne.

“Enough kid, I am busy searching someone for you. I am not marriageable material anymore. God, I am fifty-nine. And you are not getting young as the days ticks by,” said Sebastian, and Anne mentally cursed herself for mentioning the topic of marriage.

Now her sweet Papa would jumpstart the marriage bandwagon again with the help of Carol aunty. Everyday photos of prospective grooms would start to arrive in her inbox. Her indifference had suspended action in that area for quite some time. God, please help.

Anne had lost her mother, the brightest presence in their lives, at the age of fifteen to cancer. With her death, happiness had taken a backbench in their life. They had lived from day to day, and didn’t have much expectations from life. The arrival of Carol aunty, their bubbly neighbor five years ago, had brought a little sunshine to their lives. Carol Braganza was from Goa and had settled in Bangalore in the flat next to theirs after the death of her husband.

Anne knew her father was in love with Clara and that she too returned the feelings. The fact that Anne at the age of twenty-eight was still unmarried was a huge worry for her father, who was a stoic member of the old mentality. Every time she visited, she could perceive the anguish in the eyes of her father.

“Papa… God will have to send someone custom made for me. Most of the men around here find me intimidating,” said Anne, trying to dissuade her father from engaging in his futile quest for a suitable groom.

“Shut up. What is wrong with you? You are extremely good looking. Carol swears by that. I don’t doubt that either. You are like your mother and you know how much I adored her. The one for you is just around the corner. But you won’t even bother to check,” said Sebastian and Anne snorted.  Around the corner indeed!!

“Okay papa. Don’t scold. I will check all the nook and corners from now on. Please don’t worry. Am I not your sweet girl? Now be good and go to sleep. I have to eat my dinner,” said Anne.

To be continued...
Read Part 4 here


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...