Oh, and see.
It's 11:11. AM.
Isn't it the time when we're supposed to ask for wishes?
Or is it just a myth?
After all, how can four pieces of sticks be lucky enough to stable the hustle of my life?
Moreover, what shall I wish for?
Whom shall I wish for?
Shall I wish for the lady whom I saw crying in the metro station the previous morning?
Or shall I pray for my mother to rest in peace, after almost five years of her expiration?
Shall I ask for some rain?
Or would it be okay if I demand a little bit of heaven from the almighty?
There's so much to ask for. Damn.
Oops, and look,
11:12 already.
It's too late now.
It's too late now.
YOU ARE READING
The Untold Stories.
Short Story// The Untold Stories. \\ " We're about the books we read, and the poems we love." - Kritika Banerjee. A collection of paragraphs, nanotales, poetry and thoughts from my journey. Highest Rank - #78 in short stories on 29/6/17 ...
