“Do you miss me?”
“Don’t you read my poetry?”
“I lost my reader.”
It took two years for Rachit and Geet to realize the gravity. The gravity of divorce they were calculating. It was 143rd page, when she found her reference.
“With black hair with few golden strands, pierced ears at four different places, reddish and dimpled cheeks, Geet was learning to drive.” She read.
“Is that all you noticed?” She asked him.
“Is that all you read?”
Another book was about to finish, when Rachit wrote another story around her.