47.
We don't talk. It was just that one time, but seeing her in the canteen munching on spring rolls in a corner or seeing her silently flipping through pages in the library gives me relief. It gives me a refreshing feeling to know that she is okay.
It feels like protecting her has become my duty, because she protected me.
From death.
YOU ARE READING
Blue
Short StoryHer solace was the tears she shed in the middle of the night, when she knew there was no one to listen to her sobs or notice her wet pillow.. He found salvation in the blood that often oozed out of his hand. When their paths meet, will the blood be...
