Neha offered him proof, but he casually brushed it aside.
A week later, she offered him the divorce papers instead.
“But we’re happily married, Neha,” he said, a tinge of anger in his voice.
“But I don’t remember you being happy with me, ever,” she replied, walking away.
55 Fiction… when I started trying this form many years back, there was only one place I’d share it with. I returned there last Friday, only to hear that the host there has left this world, moved on to a better one. This flash fiction, I dedicate to his memory. Thank you, G.
Poetry & writing to me are to me, a breath of fresh air in a life that is sometimes covered by the smoke of sorrow or self doubt. They also become the sweets I share to celebrate when life offers me a reason to. But most of all, they are to me, my life. For each word I write is a piece of my heart, a thought that just had to find its way into the world.