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Continue reading →: The Typo
“I feel like I’m a typo.” Ed’s buttery fingers froze mid-way before he could fill his mouth with another handful of popcorn. It was an awfully regular Sunday afternoon. He didn’t shave. She didn’t wax her legs. They were watching re-runs of their favourite show, sprawled on the floor on…
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Continue reading →: The Bolt
It was the end. It was finally, truly, the ultimate end. It wasn’t like one of Nostradamus’ prophecies, or the farcical 2012 prediction, or the old blokes who sat around a bonfire waiting for it to happen. No, this time, it was real. She felt goose pimples forming all over…
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Continue reading →: Words
They were sitting there, perched precariously, tipping ever so lightly on the tips of her fingers. There was electricity pulsating through her nerves, as if her heart was bursting to pour itself out on the keyboard. Words flew, like tiny wisps of cotton candy dandelions flying through the summer breeze.…
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Continue reading →: The Mute Unmuted
It’s been 3 years since then, but the excitement is still so fresh in my mind. About 180 strangers sat together in a massive auditorium, most of us with our respective parents, and waited with an effervescent enthusiasm for our new life to begin. It was hard to contain our…
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Continue reading →: Nine
It has been 9 years. She can still hear her voice when she reads her letters. It has been 9 days. She can still hear his laughter through his photographs. It is cruel what memories can do to you.
Hello,
I’m Astha
Welcome to my blog. I use this space as a pensieve: a place to store my memories and feelings. It’s a rest house. An easy chair. A watering hole for the soul. I’m glad you’re here. Take a look around, make yourself at home ☕
Butterflies and Hurricanes 