By Neel Anil Panicker
“You shouldn’t have done that,” reprimanded Vivek.
“I did the right thing,” countered his wife Kiran as the two stared at the floor that was littered with torn black and white pictures; the frames yanked off the edges and broken into several pieces.
“But,” shot back Vivek, “these sepia toned photos were our dear daughter’s only remembrances of Inder.
“A husband who died within a week of her marriage. I know these were our daughter’s conduits of her best memories with Inder. They’re a time machine she hopped on to revisit a deadened past. It’s time she embraces the future.”
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