On the table, some of my classic books are lying in which the protagonist suffers from terminal diseases. An inclination towards this genre developed gradually with my illness. Beneath all books a photo album is resting, storing all the memories, dust has surrounded the surface that is not covered by the books above.
I don't remember when was the last time I had enough courage to flip the first page, it does not only contain memories but time, not only time but also her. I loved mother like nothing else, I always thought she is mine. Sometimes, when I became unbearable or did not eat food, she used to scare me by saying,
"I'll buy a new son from the market."
It always acted as a panacea, I was so possessive of her that I could not take the idea of sharing her. For a few days, I made schemes as to how would I murder him if she brings anyone. And I allotted this task to my toy gun.
Now it's been eleven years since I last saw mother and seeing these pictures I am reminded of our last days together once again.
YOU ARE READING
A Beautiful Smile
Short StoryLakshy's life changed with a test like it once did in the past. He is a TB patient and tries to recapitulate one by one how his life has unfolded.
