THE PAINTER
There was one loud tick, followed by a few more. A fly got incinerated on the racket net as I coldly stared. After that, I sat against the wall and lit a cigarette. Lying beside was a woman, half asleep- A tender soul. I felt some sort of amusement gazing at the delicate details of her body: The slender legs. The narrow tuft of hair she retained. The pale blue eyes. Her pale blue eyes in which I was constantly getting lost, from the moment I met her at a bar the other night. A man of few words stumbled into a woman of none. She was mute. But her eyes whispered to me all the time. They sang songs of ardent love and th...