Today, I am covered in lines. Rust from the rain, and the occasional overflowing water from the drain paint my feet in unchangeable colours.
The two friends grew up together playing cricket in the garage, watching Pokémon routinely at 6 PM on Cartoon Network at Zuhayer's flat, and chasing stringless kites.
With my memories remaining an unvisited dream, I woke up amidst the calm green meadow that gently held onto me.
In that world, ignorance amassed like water near the roots of a cypress tree.
I’d never felt sadder at the prospect of not being a part of someone else’s story.
The wish itself was pretty mediocre and commonplace, a mundane fantasy to escape the mundane.
“Extra ghugni, no chilis,” he confirmed, his cyber-enhanced eyes ever judging.