Phir usne loda bahar nikala to mere jaan mein jaan aai. Phir usne mujhe uttha ke bed per patak diya.Meri dono taange khol kar meri choot per ek thapaa... mara jis se mere muh se zordaar aah nikal gayi. Mujhe lag raha tha ki hamaari aawaz bahar jaa rahi hai. Jise main rokna chahti thi per rok nahi pa rahi thi. Woh meri choot per apna lamba loda marne laga aur phir lode je seede se choot ko sehlane laga.Phir usne dheere se apna loda meri choot pe rakha. Dheere-dheere choot kholne laga aur lode ka. A torrent of yesterdays flashed in his mind, especially the yesterdays of incarceration. He dismissed such thinking a while ago, blaming mental illness. Was it all true? Still no answer save a slight wind rattling the window, and the snow falling imperceptibly as though it shared his fear and utter desolation. The snow seemed to whisper that California was a dream indeed, that loneliness, a state of being he easily grasped, would unfold in added dimensions, that responsibility towards Allah. More

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