Thirst
Yash said with a chuckle, the time she tried to run away from her marriage came in front of his eyes; she hated him with a passion, and then she loved with obsession.
“Why?” he asked.
Yash looked dead into his eyes, “Kuch logo ko apne hisse ki khushi kismet se churani padhti hai, Shayra meri churayi huyi khushi thi,” he said, hell it hurt him so bad to talk to her about her in past sentence. (some people have to snatch their happiness from fate, Shayra was my stolen happiness,)
“She belonged to someone else?” Doc Sharma asked curiously.
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