Demons of the Past
I felt hot. On opening my eyes, I realised that Raunak was clung to me as a creeper. Ironical it was. I always thought that I was his creeper. People needed air to breathe, but I needed Raunak whenever I wanted calm and peace in my ultra-busy life. I smiled inwardly. My throat felt parched. I wonder if it was because of the fact that Raunak had not left even an ounce of space for me to breathe or was it because just few hours ago we had a torrid and inexpressible need for each other. With a lot of care, I got out of his grip. I came out of the duvet and Ooty’s chilled air greeted me. I looked out for my dress, which we had mercilessly discarded few hours ago. My eyes were fixed on Raunak’s shirt. I slipped it on. Not because I was ashamed of my nakedness, but because of the century old preaching that one should never be comfortable with their skin. Raunak’s shirt was barely able to cover me, but then in the wilderness of Ooty; I wasn’t afraid that someone would spot me. I came out