‘Was it my fault?’ She said with tears pouring from her eyes.

‘No, dear it isn’t your fault. There are some people who notice you, complement you and when you start communicating with them they receprocate back with equal enthusiasm. You grow closer, the talks never end, there are no complete hellos and goodbyes. Even a small good morning note from them becomes a matter of great happiness for you. They tell you that they have fallen in love with you, and your innocences opens up your shell and imbibe them in. People close to you warn you of what could happen, but it’s too late you already have fallen for them. You perceive they have too.

But in reality they are people holding the world’s best apple in their hand, but are afraid of finding a worm in it. Instead of savouring the sweetness, they chop you into pieces and when they find an imperfection, they leave. Excuses and boycott begins, your misery takes birth, exposed and vulnerable you stand. On their way out they break you shell which held you safe. Broken. Betrayed. Open for the vultures to feed.

It’s not the end, he won’t be the last one either. Pick your chopped pieces and restructure yourself. You will not be the same and you must not be. For it is, what is called Life.’

She raised her head from her lap and hugged her ‘you are the best, mumma.’

‘It’s okay my child, you will be okay’ her mother hugged her back with a silent smile.

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