Xandeir Pov
She, in our house and one thing I can feel, is love.
Love, the word, which was the root cause of my illness. The reason that an eligible person, working day and night, is lurking around a woman. A workaholic has become a love-a-holic.
The conclusion of the feeling is nowhere less than irritating and itchy. It is a kind of disease that will tell you and remind you that you have been suffering through a disease which is incurable.
And the lady beside me is the root cause of the problem.
I looked over at her face. Such innocence and sweetness, she does not even know, of whose night and the day has been hell after her.
She is with me now, here, reminding me of all those nights in which I have been thinking that one day she would be with me here.
“Are we going to stay outsid
