Meera

There he slides down the slope and towards the valley. Many more follow suit, yet none can defeat him. He tumbles, he fumbles, he halts to look around to see who is his closest competition. Not even a close second. He can smell victory, almost. The voyage resumes. The finish line is close, his heart beats quicker by the second. There is no stopping him now. And then he makes the final dash. Like a butterfly he flies off the edge. It is just the breeze of emancipation and his soul. No shackles. 

Meera was gazing skywards, lost in her evening reverie of curious tales. A cold jitter bursts open a series of familiar sensations. 

He was there, a glittering drop of rain on her porcelain cheek, the one who managed to get away from the silken smoothness of the car's silver body. He won. She applauded

It was raining the whole day.