By Neel Anil Panicker
Long after the hall was emptied of all bibliophiles, readers casual and otherwise, and sundry weekend hangers on, Shreya stood amidst the eerie silence, absolutely unmoving—-her eyes staring unblinkingly at the giant Roman lettered hands of the Victorian era wall clock that hung high above on the walls of the National Library, Calcutta.
How ironical, she thought_the City of Joy, the place she had hoped would give her happiness had inflicted the most pain, brought forth such unimaginable misery.
The pain and agony persisted and refused to leave her like it were a clingy leech and when she had dried up all the tears and hen her mind could no longer process any further and when life had baited her in its inextricable hook, and when she knew she had reached a dead end, she stumbled up to the window and leapt, her hands flailing out like a wide winged eagle floating in the ever darkening evening skies.
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