When she stepped down from the plane, a familiar whiff of breeze hit her. It was like the countless times before, the cool dampness, the overcast skies, the strange smell of struggling millions around her, the romanticism hidden in that struggle.
But it wasn't like the countless times it had been before.Long long back.
And she was glad. She was glad to be going to her almost home.
She sometimes looks around and wonders, those who are hers, will always be, she can't stretch out her hand to feel them, let them in. But still be convinced they'll be there when she's all alone.
Not giving her company, just being as lonely.
.
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