I owe this reply to Cleopatra, who seems to have understood me more than anyone else, including myself. My writings are full of flaws; they are semi-plausible and are mottled with grammatical errors. Heaven knows I have hated myself after I posted my previous stories; it was really embarrassing going through them after they were posted. There are a group of people who like it, and a group of more people who make a laughingstock out of it. I have often failed to highlight little details of the incident for the sake of brevity which could have festooned the stories otherwise. But there is one thing about my writing I have been proud of - I am spontaneous. I never rehearse, I never revise, I write in one session. I never look for appropriate, suitable verbiages, that readers often expect from a more than a mediocre writer, if I am at all. But then why make writing so arduous when you know you cannot ever be good? It is just a simple interpretation of your reminisces that has longed to come out from your system, in something tangible. I adore the beauty of words, but I will not kill myself over it. That makes me a less than mediocre, but a spontaneous writer. Thank you Cleo, you finally suited me with a word I had been looking for ages. I thank you all who have endeavored to read this story; I apologize if it were an overly sentimental drama. I thank you all who cried, I thank you all who smiled.