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“ You know for a writer,’ I love you’ is not a statement spoken merely in jest. She said.

“You? A writer? Haha ! How can you even call yourself as one with your soul being wretched ? Do you know anything else other than brimming your eyes with these spurious tears? Hence, I deserve far better than your ugly heart.” he said ,ignoring the silent love she bore in her words.

She handed him a novel, HER NOVEL, which got published just a day before. His eyes got stuck at her name,which was etched just under the title. She didn’t feel the need to explain further,and perhaps wiped off her tears. She could see regret in his eyes.

She proved herself as a writer to him and the whole world.

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