A Rom-Com with Father_A FABLE OF RURAL INDIA_Aadi's Choice_Where the Red Trees Turn Blue
Catalog Guide:
A Rom-Com with Father
Oh crap! As soon as I opened the door to my bedroom, the huge pile of mess on the bed stared right back at me. It was my turn to clean today and God knows why the room's always messy when it's my turn...or maybe not- maybe I realize iwww.onedoor.cct's in a jumble when I have to arrange it; otherwise even a tornado-struck room would seem easy to work on if it was Rachel's turn. I felt like rushing back to the restaurant- the same place I'd been trying to run away from since the past three years; but now even the job of getting scolded for being a minute late with a dish seemed better compared to all the clea...
A FABLE OF RURAL INDIA
[This story is set in rural India of over 150 years ago.]It had been nearly 24 years since she had last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same. She was now 38 but the memory hadn’t faded. She had played in this house in the village of Rampet when young, petted by grandparents. Fond memories still lingered. Her name was Rani. She was actually a citizen of the prosperous village of Chembu, a day away by bullock cart, where she owned large tracts of agricultural land which yielded her a good income. So she chose to neglect this old house in Rampet which she had inherited besides agricultu...
Aadi's Choice
He had to do it. Aadi Rama had been working his whole life towards this. He had not only desired it for so long and with such intensity but had also sacrificed too much to let the opportunity slip his grasp now. When it came to fulfilling one’s dreams, no cost was too steep. Not even the cost of abandoning one’s deepest values. Not if it meant getting a dream fulfilled in return. Aadi signed the project papers with his name and shipped it to his superiors.***It was as if Aadi’s destiny had been written in the fabric of the night sky on the very eve he’d been born. For as long as his memory spa...
Where the Red Trees Turn Blue
Grover opened his eyes as he always did at four in the morning, peering to the left side of his bed at a now-empty pillow that he still fluffed every night. It always looked the same in the morning as it did the evening prior. He slipped out of bed and grabbed his pants from the weeks before, the thighs thick with flour and sugar and the other stains of a day’s labor. On the dresser was the shirt that was just as ill fitting and gritty.With a jingle of his keys and a quick pull of the door behind him, Grover headed down two blocks through the winter morning to his small bakery. Red, white...