suspence thriller story
Answers
Answer:
wut?
Explanation:
what do you want? huh?
Answer:
I am a travelling author. What are travelling authors, you ask? I'll tell you. We write, just like every author does, but we have a problem, unlike the conventional authors. The conventional authors don't have to look for inspiration to write something, or even if they have to, they just need to search for it once before starting the story. Their minds are a lot more creative than our minds and can spin stories with ease. We are pretty useless. Since our minds are blank and sadly, not creative, we travel around looking for inspiration and creativity latently residing in every inch of this world. We need the help of this world to propel our story's plot. You find that admirable? Trust me, it's a pain. Sometimes, your minds aren't conditioned enough to observe the things around you, and sometimes your spectacles aren't clean enough to intricately observe every fine detail in the ambience. Well, the former is a problem with every travelling author, the latter is exclusively mine. I suck at what humans call hygiene. Oh no! Don't judge me, I bathe every day.
Gosh! My wife bored you probably? Darling, you don't always have to explain what travelling authors are. Well that's what she calls herself. I simply call her a traveler, more accurately, an explorer. And what am I? I'm just her husband. I own a marvelous paradise in Pune, but my wife doesn't fancy it. She is the kind who likes to be going around places, visiting shanties and maybe resorts too! Laying still isn't her habit. The marvelous paradise, or the hotel I own was erected solely for her. I mixed every element of this world in it to give her a sense of movement all the time, but as I just mentioned, she doesn't fancy it.
The diary is back in my hands. Am I boring you? Oh I'm not! I know, thanks. We are going to a tea garden today. I have seen a lot of tea gardens but I wonder what's different about this one! I have an aversion to stagnancy. When my father bought me a bicycle, I ran away or rather, rode away with it. I was supposed to learn bicycling the next day, but my adventurous self-took off before my father ever got a chance to teach me. Of course, I didn't have the faintest idea how to ride one and kept falling and falling and falling. I had wandered off to some unknown road. I didn't even know I was lost! I just kept riding happily. My, and there, I fell down again. That is where I met ‘him’ :)
And from here on, I'll take over. There she was! Young girl, adolescence hadn't hit her. Darling, you were 9 back then, right? I was no elder. I myself was, haha, 8. She fell down and her already bruised knees were bleeding waterfalls of blood. I was raised by an Army man and I was bleeding chivalry. However, as arrogant and stubborn she was, in no world was she ever gone accept my help. While she violently protested, I had, by then, already ‘bent on my knees’ to ‘tie the knot’ on her bleeding leg, with my handkerchief. I gave her a pale look and smiled. It was the beginning of an everlasting summer. I asked her, if she can go back home on her own. And yet again, my amazing amusing girl, nodded a yes, totally rejecting my offer. I smiled again, I had seen through her face and got the idea that she is probably lost.
I wasn't lost, I'll let you know! I just was exploring a different way back. I told him a few landmarks around my lovely home, and he gave me a confident expression, as if he knew where my home was. I remember him leading the way and me chatting about my glories, about myself. But you know something? It felt...it felt nice. I love speaking, sharing, talking but my father had always restricted me from making any friends. His reasons weren't wrong. Our locality wasn't one you could call safe. However, this 8 year old had more brains than any man. He didn't speak a single word all through our walk. He just held the bicycle and gave a very, very faint smile occasionally. That faint smile, was what i fell in love with. He isn't the kind of guy who talks much.
Who said I don't talk? If it's my wife we are talking about, I could write novels, swarm words and make oceans of descriptions. When she told me about the landmarks around her place, I immediately realized something though she realized ‘that’ only a little later. We were neighbors. Coincidence? I think not, definitely. When his father could see us from a distance, he ran towards his daughter to hug her. The elation of reunion was something words will forever fail to describe. She burst out in pain, and started crying. She had finally felt the security of a father’s shoulder where she could always put her emotional burden upon. Her father looked at
The tea garden is here. Shall we go?