She loved the smell of old books and diaries.
All of eight, Monal chanced upon a long pressed piece of paper from her Mamma’s brown diary which sort of read that her grandma had committed suicide along with her lover.
It was all in a language that she could speak fluently but could barely read, Bangla. She could hardly breathe. She neither ran to her Mamma nor showed signs of knowing. That is just how she was.