
It was drizzling outside. I drove the car through the occasional mist, climbing the winding roads up the high ranges. She didn’t say anything. We knew it was our last journey together. The last time I would be taking her to her workplace. I remembered all the moments we had together from the moment I first met her. How happy we both were together! The great Indian wedding cliché just spoiled our relationship. She belonged to a different religion and our parents denied our insatiable love and desire to be together. My rage and grief reflected on the speedometer of the car. “Please, go slow”, she said at last. When I had a sideways glance, I saw her rummaging in her bag. “Can you please pull over?”, she asked. She looked sick. I stopped the car under a Gulmohar tree which stood magnanimously by the road side, shedding flowers all over the place, bathing the ground under it in blood red. I looked at her. “Why did you want me to stop?” She took out a bottle of imported perfume from
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