She
thought she could master the art of pretending. The art of playing dumb as long
as she want. She thought her heart would stay impermeable. She thought she
could resist the charm.
But
the problem is, love grows. It deepens its roots, extends its branches. It
fruits. It blooms. And like all the sweet melodious tune of love, it pins her.
Fascinates and spellbinds her. And her heart looses its stiffness. It wasn’t tough
hard anymore. It’s flabby. It’s like a child mesmerize by the light of
fireflies. Flying low at a bank of a pond.
She
wants to touch it. Curious with its warmth. She wants to jar it. Make them
hers. She looks and feels and lured.
And
finally, the magic enchants her.
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