Letters in her letter!

   Again she half shut the door, again boiling up my agression inside me; again crushing my honor under her feet. She continued to practice, at mightnight, having spied, me and our son asleep. She hid a box, excusing through  the breadth of her dupatta and left the bed-cover in the fine crease; as she was never with me: being with me.
For several nights, she has withdrawn herself,  silently moving  out my life. I never had the courage to assasinate my trust: to doubt her character.
She used to sit with a sleek-aluminium box, in the study room, with a low watt  lamp on. She never saw me chase her. She used to pick to read from a folded paper: letters. Sometimes she smiled reading it; other time she seemed worried; then I saw a mischievious silent-laugh, which she managed to keep herself.

‘To whom she is reading?’ was the question that escalated my eruption. She needs to leave me n my son, if she has something to cook inside her head…I won’t let her assassinate our relation, with her knife. I cannot tolerate this more.
Each passing day, I became harsh and rude on her. I began hating her; I wanted  to reveal it anyway. However, she had questions, which gobbled my soul, I was unable to meet them, as a noble person. I had nothing left, for her.

A day, let me an excuse to disclose what made my life worsen. I found her gone to the market. I don’t want to lose the chance and hastily I entered the study room, and found the box, right besides the books. I did not found any secrecy there, and immediately grabbed it. I sat down, crossed my legs on the floor, with the heart to farewell my betraying better-half.

Inside it, there were number of letters… and I tesfified all papers as love letters–it made me feel ashamed: greatly ashamed of being an honorless man, an unawared and opportunity-giver.

I opened the top most letter: a reckless writing on a pink, single-lined paper. The volcano that shook me, for the no. of nights, began cracking me down to tears. I managed to absorb my tears, with a hand on my face to soak the tears.                        

Each letter brought tides of regretion…the last letter completely shatterd me, a different writing from the previous ones. It said: 

My love Sarfaraz,

I kept all your letters safely, to remind me the love, you had for me once. Your husbandship is a practical approach, where you lost all emotions, the ability to read my emotions… and I too was afraid to remind you: our love. I tried to rewake our love in you, but your each screech, held me back, to abide by your each word. 

I found peace in your letters; I relive the life, we lagged behind. Sitting besides you, makes me feel a faithful wife, but not a woman who got her desired man. I hope to share your words some day, with you.
Your wife, 

Eiliya Sarfaraz

Personalization speaks to the peak!


“Although she is running a successful business, but she still possess the potency, to bring out the topnotch product.”

“As a regular employee, I had to job for eight hours, rare one-on-one interaction with the clients, due to which I remained unaware of my individual productivity needs.”

You are already coping with life’s tragic-circles, allow yourself to believe in you; and produce the difference in the society.”

You may have observed the three different pronouns, I have used.

What is my purpose???

~ Pronouns!



Take few moments, away from my question. Ask yourself to arrange the pronouns in their ascended form—from closest to farthest.


Done? Or Stuck?

I, You and She. Right!

Why am I asking for this ordinal arrangement?

~ Magnitude of distance, is clearly channelized here.

What is the use of this magnitude? How does this work?

~ Here I go:

  • I is the closest and nearest pronoun.
  • You comes after and,
  • She is the farthest one.

The magnitude is measured, when speaker tends to influence the audience.

Am I speaking grammar?

~Oh no! I really have nothing to drag it beyond. 😉

  • When I stood as a teacher, and began to encourage my students, to solve the story sums, they resisted. They resisted until I cracked the nuts; not really I did so, but yeah, I did one thing—characterized myself to break their problems into simpler fragments. They really responded in a positive tone.
  • I joined dozens of face-book groups pertaining to entrepreneurship. From initial till the time I quit my regular job, I kept battling myself… on a definite income-provision. At time, I was convinced to quit my regular job.There was girl, who single-handedly performed many jobs, in an appropriate work-home balance way. Her narration, was quite close to our daily challenges. It doesn’t say that I am easily driven away into hers!It means, I worked with my best possible extent till I stood, to recognize my potential in the field of online-entrepreneurship.
  • A healthy and fit, dietitian involves her own figure-collage, to stimulate the people’s minds towards treasure of health. Why she exemplifies her own? ~ To declare the great achievement merely, but more to help common folks, until they breakaway the fears, that corroded their minds. So that, they can believe in their efforts.

What is the gist of all bulleted- examples above?

~ To introduce the height of personalization in marketing…

Yes, you took it right. I am not here, to speak the formalities of personalization, but yea, I get the need to speak about Personalization itself.

Is this a trouble? A marketing trouble?

~ No. It’s a demanding marketing tool.

It makes easier, in fact comfortable, in testifying your transformation from a nodding-turtle to a fluttering pigeon.

These are not just the words, but a technique. It is involved in every single discipline, by respective experts, to trigger-enhance their productivity; and to better help out the alike-solution seekers.

Most of us, possess common interests; our challenges become common; our failure tracks get to the same way; skills  get  common, our languages, choices, skills, and so, many other things. Any of the similarity above, makes us search the like-minded person or people of a community, where we can meet the challenges together and grow. Thus creating a chain, which would work from one hook to the rest of the knots, establishing companionship and family zone.

This helps in making fellowship and hence, your product maps down through people, speaking out the quality.

I by person, find least gravitation in listening to others’ success tales. I do get touched, by listening to personal transforming catalysts. How they boom their lives!

How it helps?

  • It functions over one-to-one interaction.
  • It creates relations and understanding, among social connections, colleagues and mentors.
  • It marks up the label of authenticity (trustworthy), on your product: most importantly your profile.
  • Inactive people find it easier to avail the services, you offer. They usually observe, the most and then step forward. A comfortable host can better welcome, to a feast.
  • Consequently, it has broaden the paths for entrepreneurship and customization.
  • Independency is the triumphed outcome; where one feels the encouragement and appreciation.
  • A bridge leads to other sub-bridges—making interconnections easier and feasible.

Therefore, I would say Personalization takes from ownership to the heights of empowering: the beings on their self-arms.

And yea, Pronouns do speak about magnitude of personalization.










Her name is Shumaila Khan!

She is…..

Hey there…!!

The girl, whose words you are going to be familiarize with, is Shumaila Khan; she dwells inside me.

She is qualified being a Masters in Applied Mathematics. Don’t think of the year! It might give an indication to her most personal asset: age.

Earlier she was eager of teaching, just after her education. Don’t know what stuck her mind doing so?

  • Earning could be one of the reason.
  • Or spending some definite time out of the home.
  • Or a fixed income every month.
  • Or appraising her life-style in terms of showing her up-graded class.
  • Or maybe all the reasons.

So, whatever hit her the most, sometimes she was happier than the clown. Other time, she was as gloomy as a candle.

You see, we are having different masks at the same time.

Oops! By masks, I don’t mean about being disguised. Its like we have numerous wings to rely on…

Am I getting too riddled?

Well I am more this way, when I speak good (infact some evils too :p) about her.

I love her and like her way more… because she is my Self.

She kept on teaching (cheating) on her best until she comes up with very interactive, and personized way of expression.

And guess what?

She began to pen down her emotions into the form of writing.

‘Whoa! What a change!’ everyone spoke out.

‘You are a drowned reader and so, I welcome a new writer.’

‘Shumaila you have a good flair  in writing…’

‘Is this something you wrote? Great ideas and convincing talent.’

‘When I am having your book in my hands?’

O’ my Ghosh! It’s like she begins to fly in the air. She is praised by everyone. She is rejoicing her words…

She has taken herself so rightly, that actually pleased me.

She has some more interests too…

She is maliciously eager of reading books, and collecting them. She has read many novelists:

  • Paulo Coelho
  • Sydney Sheldon
  • Elif Shafak
  • Khaled Hosseini
  • Åsne Seierstad
  • Nicholas Spark
  • John Green
  • Jhumpa Lahiri and
  • P.D. James

She keeps her collection away from her mom’s sight. Why? Because she does not want to see her reading. And what if she has begun writing too?

Well answer to this must be: ‘Do whatever you like. But make the use of it.’

Now, that’s far … far relaxing!

And she is a melodious singer too… She has a born-voice in her, which when she throws out; she has the ability to capture the whole environment. Believe it! She will going to sing some day 😉

Forgot one craze in her, she is a burglar-foodie. She is fond of everything, every type. No matter what is kept in front, seconds later, it will be disappeared. 😛

Her genres of reading and writing are…

She enjoys: motivational stories, romantic stories, crime-based, suspense and thriller; fiction, and tragic stories; non-fictions.

She is now persuading her dreams…

She says: ‘Within an instance, I began grasping the idea of creating stories and creating plots myself. I saw the answers of my character-ambiguity surrounding me around. I began feeling myself, as the owner of my story and therefore, I have started writing to pursue as my dream line.

Initially I wrote for my own blog, then a summary for my teacher, few articles for an on-line magazine, and now working on my draft, which will be a published novel in sha Allah.

This has been a year, when I am pursuing my career as a writer.  I feel lovely, while talking to people having same interests. I am perfectly a book-sick, who wanders to insanely read the synopsis of the unread books.

Well m too talkative, when meet with the words that I choose to introduce myself.’

Articles, that have been published:

The published articles are:


Let’s take her ambition in her words: ‘I am a creative writer, who writes through an ink of passion. No matter, where I belong to… my devotion and honesty will take me to higher opportunities. In Sha Allah.. I am working on my dream to be recognized as a novelist in the coming years.

Along with that I can write:

  • Blogs and articles
  • Reflective writing
  • Summaries
  • Review (on a novel or anything)
  • Rephrasing
  • Story
  • Copy-writing
  • Paraphrasing
  • Precise writing

I am looking forward to dwell in the sincerity of my passion.’

Concluding words by her…

‘Self-recognition is never late. Find in you, the one who is curtained behind fear.’

My name is Sana!

She was already getting late. She hardly gulped a weak sip from the glass of warm milk, her mother kept on the center-table.

‘Sana! At least drink it whole.’ urged Sana’s mother seeing the daughter hastily moving.

‘You know, I am late ….very late.’ She spoke while reading the minute-hand-tale, to let her mother empathize her hastiness.

‘Whatever! It will take seconds. You rarely get late, so it doesn’t matter much.’ Her mother tried to defend her.

‘Maa! Catching the taxi, is another mission; it will even take time, so it’s a big no!’ she completed her point whilst tying the laces of her favorite shoes, across the pierces.

Sana was reside of middle-class vicinity; however, she was a dutiful daughter and a supervisor-cum sister to her only younger sister. They were the two sisters. Altogether, they were three at home: all females. She used to observe veil, before confronting to any strange sight. Sana and her younger sister Sidra, both had entirely different attiring features. Sana usually covers herself in the veil followed by yasmak; on the other side, her sister used to stretch a thin dupatta over her head. Although, Sana had lectured Sidra million times, about her wearing convention, but there were no marks of crawling lice on her head. It made no difference to her at all.

‘Sidra! Are you coming? I am gonna leave…’ yelled Sana standing towards the staircase.

‘Here I am…’ she was almost running down the stairs, with dupatta in her hands.

‘Hey! Look at you…’ Sana pointed her way to make her realize.

‘I know…I am wearing it.’ Having pronounced her words, she took dupatta around her shoulders. ‘Let’s go…’

Sana’s eyes opened widely but remained silent. She was closer to speak again, and to give her a quick lecture. But everything could get in vain. She utterly swallowed down her words and was ready to move with her. Even after a great number of concerns, Sidra showed no sign of interest and remained as constant as a rock.

‘Allah Hafiz Maa!’ they rhythmed in chorus and went together.

The twin-main roads were followed by two lanes: a shorter, but deserted; and longer, but crowded. They always chose the longer path and walk with high paces to meet the time in any possible way. It was their daily ritual that they followed. It was Sana’s idea, to pass by a flock of people, is a wiser practice. She felt herself comfortable moving through a hotchpotch and crowded area; she thought it would be easier to ask somebody for help, in case something non-sense happens.

Like every single day, they were on their way to rush the stop, Sana used to observe something. She fancily kept her eyes, to a small stair-case leading to a shuttered-down shop. Over there, there was a boy, who had been sitting there for past few days. She felt from her noble soul, not to make any notice. But what she could witness every time unignorably, that he seemed to look at her and drop her through his eyes, till her stop. Why he keeps observing me? Why he stares at me seeing a pardah-observer? Maybe he looks something else and that coincides with me. But what to say about his sights which are as erect as an arrow that penetrate through my burka to my conscious. This is not graceful, instead shameless. This has to be fixed. She keeps thoughts in her mind to resolve, but forgot getting into her work. She did not feel it appropriate to discuss with Sidra; she felt ashamed doing so.

That day and days after like that, kept on passing. Sana grew more curious each day, nevertheless on being right, she never stood to the boy to question nor she bothered her sister. What if he does not do/say anything wrong? The measure of his evil, needs to be addressed if he attempts. Why not I change my route? Yes, its better. This will solve the matter. Later that day, she asked Sidra to adopt the shorter route from the following day. And she affirmed with the change, in a slight reluctance. She was almost relieved to get rid of his daily- chasing-sights.

Next day, when they both passed by, there happened to happen only two to three heads on the road, and as they reached the stop, they were all gone. She was pleased inside, letting herself show her happiness through her gesture.

‘Any good news? What has made you so much chill?’ Sidra asked Sana in astonishment.

‘Nothing especial… the weather is so pleasant and cloudy. We have escaped from the sunlight.’ She was speaking, not to reveal the truth.

Three days ahead, something entangled her imaginations with a knot. She was lesser happy now, his absence of sights licked out her certainty. She was tensed and bitter. She was gloomy inside; therefore, this could be truly judged by her silence. To the family, she famed that the burden of work at school, has been increased due to exams. But her conscious was pinching her soul. There emerged a second-being’s voice inside her head and it spoke till Sana began to feel guilty like a thief. What if he was interested in me? I should have walked more in front of him. Sooner or later, he could have expressed. She tried to shut her mind by speaking in a whispering tone: ‘What a disgrace is to think and welcome such talks!… I need to shut all such shamelessness about this.’

‘Are you fine? Looking weaker these days?’ asked mother in curious tone. Her eyes were thirsty to know the answer.

‘Yea, actually assessments are going on…I told you already, didn’t I? And escape is not possible! You understand well Maa…’ she mentioned to let her mother revisit her past profession.

‘Just assessments?’ she seemed slight stubborn when asking and tone stressed.

‘Ofcourse! What else?’

‘Acha listen! I have one news. There are some people who want to see, Sidra! And they are asking for an appropriate day, what you say?’

‘Wow! Call them any day… ok how about this Thursday?’ said in a suddenly active mode.

‘Fine! You have to come early from the school, to help me in managing things.’

‘It goes without saying…’ said when she landed her head on her shoulder. ‘May Allah bless her, with everything best.’


The next day, Sidra points towards the route and mentions the under-going construction on the road, after the maintenance of electric cables. Sana got confused for a moment and makes up her mind to the previous route.

She did not see the boy again, but her eyes were searching him. His absence was now marked each time. She was cursing the time, she changed her route. As the thirsty land, asks for water. She was considering herself as a guilty, and battling for anything which never happened; however, she was desperate for it, to happen.

On Thursday, Sidra find an excuse to take an off from the work. She had to be at home, for preparation. Whereas Sana was committed to take an early leave. She found the guy staring at her, throughout her way. She suddenly stopped, to concentrate the voice.

‘Hey listen Lady! Please wait.’ A male-voice stopped her.

She turned back and found the staring-guy close, her heart started leaping up and down like a balloon when effuses the air out of it. ‘Yes…you asked me?’

‘Yeah… actually I wanted to say, I have asked my parents for you… and they will visit at your dwelling tonight. You may have many questions… but seeing your nobility, I never bothered you directly.’

‘Sorry! What you…?’ she hesitated between her affirmed-doubts and nervousness.

‘But…’ she spoke incompletely to mention the truth.

‘No but or anything! I am Naved, an engineer. And I liked you… your body-language and grace, actually convinced me about you…’

She liked him too, but remain entangled between his intentions and the situation her mother mentioned. She was badly puzzled by the waves that just hit her mind and she wanted to settle enough to make him clear.

‘I am in hurry… I am leaving.’ He turned back to move, but suddenly remembered something he left, ‘I have seen a noticeable approval in your eyes… as they searched for me … I am not wrong, Sidra!’ and ran far after his friend, leaving her deaf and dumb.

What he named just cleared the idea, but she was mistaken or he has mistaken or mother was having confusion. Is it right to mention the truth? A mistake can appear as a lie in all three lives. But you can’t be selfish, having seen a happiness…after father’s death and financial crises. You are not going to correct, yet jealousy is ruling on you… you better dig it here….

Five years later, after finishing her chores, she stood in the balcony, listening to the chirp and language of nature. She was so engage, that a sound hit her ears twice…

‘Sana! Don’t you remember? Someone is on the way to see you… and your sister and brother-in-law have already arrived. Get ready nicely….’

‘But why?’

‘You are 36 now and will not find any one of your match on further delay. Stop weaving your dreams of a prince.’

‘Prince!’ there was an echo inside her.

Some moments later, she was in front of the person, who came for her. After formal discussions. The boy wanted the girl to introduce herself, by volunteering himself first.

‘My name is Sana and I am Sidra’s sister. My age is 36 and being so true…means no confusion should be petted any side….’

Listening to the name, strikes his ears and hosts the regression. He was ashamed of being true to her and never appreciated his eyes to glance her sister-in-law again… he buried his choice against his parents and he never mentioned anything to anyone during those years. But with her name, he still had some ashes…







Stigmatized identity…?? A pursued perspective!!

Stigma can be transformed….


While scrolling through my Facebook’s home wall, I glanced at a post themed ‘honor of woman resembles a glass, which is once scratched, cannot be mended’.

This was not the first time when I read this, neither a new thing at all!! We being women, have had already this idea… somewhere in our minds, fed as an essential ingredient of our brought up-recipes. We always heard all sorts of precautionary steps, to save our dignity and nobility.  

Absurd cases…

There are many cases, we witness in our day-to-day lives…when there is a dishonour brought to the woman, only she is biasedly defamed…. Acid attacks, honour killings, Sexual abuses, violence and most of all staring-chase!!Why people are allowed to intrigue in women’s lives?? Where these social stings come from? Who affirm such demotion? Being women, do we need to depend on our fates to…

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Stigmatized identity…?? A pursued perspective!!

While scrolling through my Facebook’s home wall, I glanced at a post themed ‘honor of woman resembles a glass, which is once scratched, cannot be mended’.

This was not the first time when I read this, neither a new thing at all!! We being women, have had already this idea… somewhere in our minds, fed as an essential ingredient of our brought up-recipes. We always heard all sorts of precautionary steps, to save our dignity and nobility.  

Absurd cases…

There are many cases, we witness in our day-to-day lives…when there is a dishonour brought to the woman, only she is biasedly defamed…. Acid attacks, honour killings, Sexual abuses, violence and most of all staring-chase!! Why people are allowed to intrigue in women’s lives?? Where these social stings come from? Who affirm such demotion? Being women, do we need to depend on our fates to rescue ourselves? No… never.

Being at home, we patiently bare everything on the name of ‘compromise’, even then we are beaten. Veiled girls are sexually abused and if not, dirt of gazes approach them, I wonder what do they look into their veils and hijabs?? But apparent.  An eye of evil does not require the definition of any sort of standard, to prevent them from penetrating into. I found, that this lapse has simply nothing to do with literacy or illiteracy, but it’s a common-street talent …..

Questions that are not answered…

What I question the folks around me, is the brought up!! Why girls are being taught about ethics and men learnt nothing but freedom of being powerfully-dominant? Why a woman in the name of ‘mother’, ignores in making her male-offspring, to respect other women? Why a ‘father’ never thinks of bringing honour to his own wife and mother, so as to exemplify his gratitude with other women on this earth?

There are certain other questions, which hammer my mind, my perspectives and at the end I withdraw, by considering myself as a victimized-gender. I proceed to think in a way, so as to get ready, to be sacrificed with everything unseen and this is how we are expected to be in our in-laws. The reason is, frantically we hide our questions, from explicit expressions. We never ask, why being at the comprised-stage from a daughter to a sister, from a wife to a mother… who draws this line, to declare stigmas on our identities?? And why these stay?? Why blames retain throughout lives?? Intentional or unintentional deeds would be asked by Him …. Why people on earth are judgemental on our identities, with no shame?? Why others extend such labels to women??……

Questions can be my answers too…

From my questions, I thought to search my answers. Being a blessed gender, we never try to bring honour and respect to other women like us. And basically it reflects, how much we respect our dignity… why we never try to put down the labels, pasted by others! Why we do not work to make them wrong about us! Why we celebrate our failures! Why we curse our fates! Why we stay with our circumstances! Why do not we try to find answers…! Why do not we look for our needs! Why we never ask our souls for its peace! Why we just keep following the customs! Why not think as a changer! It’s not impossible… think before you are marked by yourself, with their words.

A transforming thought…

And in very simple words… its nothing but a matter of perspective, you pursue from others and never recognize yours…

A scratch in a glass can be transformed to beautiful pattern….believe it!

The longest Ride (Review)

Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get-

Only with whatever you are expecting to give-

Which is everything.

Katherine Hepburn

The intensity of a feeling is immeasurable when multiplied with submission. A kind of submission that has no reluctance towards regression of pleasing your soul with the soul one loves.  The choices are not made by the soul itself, yet its found in the destiny. When mutual fates combine, give birth to the intensity of bowing heart one the basis of faith and acceptance. The acceptance dwells in the imagination of withdrawal to rejection to the facts that reality brings to segregate the hearts.

As I chose to pick this book for surfacing my thirst, I planned to watch its movie first. The movie builds the inspiration and motivation to concede with the novel too. I began watching it in the middle of the night and found it worthy enough to compliment my spent time. I already had this prevailed idea that Nicholas Spark never disappoints and yes it was achieved in the movie.

The novel begins with the moment when ninety-year old Ira Levinson had subconscious eyes while unconsciously lying on the steering wheel in a car crash. Within his broken string of breath and fluctuation, he reels on the memories right from the childhood in the hands of amenable and docile parents. His father had a great influence over his life where he had been taught about ethics. His adulthood is restored in the remains of his life, with the name of Ruth. Ruth died nine years ago. But at each choking his breath was threaded with the association with her. Her memories were oxygenating his existence. He did not want to breathe after her, but his life was imprisoned in this world.

In North-Carolina, Ira and Ruth meets and falls in love. Infinite many beautifully spent moments enriched their togetherness. Then there held some blockages to their mutual fates. There were hurdles before their marital match, signifying no upgradation of their designation into becoming parents. Ruth sacrifices her happiness of having a flock of kids over the happiness in him. Learning her withdrawal for him, he distances himself. But the distance results in blossoming their desperation with each passing span. It becomes really hard for both of them to remain apart. And sooner they got married.

Their marital life welcomes the ups and downs. Initial times went smoother in the arms of embracing love. But a hole infuses into this relation with silence. The longing of having an own child began prevailing Ruth’s mind just as she starts teaching in a local-town school. She was a dedicated teacher who sees her own child in every other child. The thirst of motherhood in Ruth’s eyes was read by Ira though he never forgets her resignation hidden behind the affection. He was arrested in a guilt of producing no happiness to her . He tries to cater her soggy wish with bits and pieces of joy bringing beneath her feet. Studying him, she was never ungrateful and never complained.

The story turns to a phase when a naïve and disobedient yet a wayward child named Daniel who grabs her motherly instinct. He makes her think of him for extra care and attention after school. She began bringing him home to coach and nourish him with knowledge. Daniel deep inside begins to be an obeying being to her. She showed her faith in him and caused betterment in himself. He witnessed the glitter in her eyes, when she depicted the art entangled into the strands of colors. She was an art lover and embellished each wall of the home with the artistic passion. Silently he was admiring her interest. In those days, Ira was much relieved by Daniel’s arrival in their lives. He was more sufficed than happy to see the fulfillment of her ardent appetite. When they plan to adopt Daniel under legal terms, who was an orphan and step- younger brother of a married person. Daniel shuts the door of his presence in their lives, which aborts the hope of cherishing future with a child. They return to two again. Daniel left no sign of return and resulted to deserted relations between Ruth and Ira.

Ira celebrates second honeymoon to rejuvenate his concern in his wife Ruth again. Life flies higher in grating each moment. Each of the two learnt to enjoy their two-ship again. But Ruth’s heart always asked for Daniel…. She was looking for him in her thoughts. They loved to be at exhibition places where appealing art was displayed. Ira always appreciated her in finding herself translating and interpreting famous art works and artists though he was never interested in it. He always loves to read through her eyes. This way they collected world class pieces of art work. The period went on… and their adulthood brought them to silver strikes on their heads…till Ira meets a day when he awakes his soul-met and she was never awaken ever. Dark was the world around him, drought spread all along his throat when he realized his head resting over steering.

The second half belongs to the young couple Sophia Danko and Luke Collins. Sophia is shown as a senior at Wake Forest University and Luke as a cowboy and Champion bull-rider in PBR. Both meet at an after-ride party and their chemistry slowly, in fact pretty slower gears. Sophia having had broken up with Brian was focusing towards studies when Marcia, her roommate asked to come with her at rodeo. For Sophia learning about Luke remained an exciting experience… his decency, simplicity and charm attracted her. Inside somewhere she felt her comfort level demands to be with him. On the other hand Luke found the company of city-girl as appealing to him. He introduces his ranch life along with bull-riding to her and feels the same magnitude of acceptance from her side. A longer span took them to confess their affection. Maybe Sophia was not looking after his shoulder just after Brian, which was assumed by Marcia.

Breathlessly Luke was competing and wining against the deadly roaring bulls. His mother petted a fear in her heart and wanted her son to quit with riding. Luke overlooks this matters and concentrates on his riding and taking care of the ranch and selling, forgetting that he had a metallic plate placed in his skull. At one-end he was also afraid of his life on a bull like ugly crater which actually put a sting on his heart co-relating to his mother’s stated fear. Spending his wonderful moments with Sophia became his ritual. Later his fear surpasses his head and in that he fought with Sophia, his puzzlement was easily understood by Sophia. On coming to know the fact, she announces her break up in favor to his quittance from the riding. She wanted to make him realize the care she had for him. Conceding later he quit. One day, on their way they found a bursting car struck and inside was an old man unconsciously bled and slumbered. Taking him to emergency, Sophia took care of the letter box which was a kind of treasure for the man. On attaining his conscious, his linger moving words asked Sophia to read a letter. Tears ruled everyone’s eye and there his remaining moments of life vanished away.

Reading to the stories I was more towards Ira and Ruth. I wonder the love that ruled between them was much appealing apart from the fairy tales and witch stories. Reading to each Ira’s times, I was living the moments. I did not feel differently from the reality. The ups and downs moved parallel into their lives, it showed no idealism. I remained desperate for each alternate chapter of Ira. The degree of empathy between them amazes me, melts my heart into fragments. With the start of each chapter I hold my concentration to rebirth into the Ira’s early 90s era. The attraction passively drove me, when it brought satisfaction on their reconciliation and worried over their arguments and loss. Nicholas really knows the art of wining hearts through his words and tales. But I was partially interested in Luke and Sophia’s because it might not be that catchy. It seemed more active than penetrating. There were very few whiles when I felt for Luke, specifically the point when he was nervous for last battle with Ugly Crater in mind. And Sophia when alarmed by Marcia of Brian’s presence as a sign of danger for Luke. She hurried to cope with a buzzing head due to the video that she watched on you-tube of Luke.

I personally recommend this book to all folks who are sensitive towards empathizing. Its thick magnitude never discourages a reader. Yet the height of interest boosts up at each alternate chapter. I think if I could have imagined Ira in my life…it would have been everything in my life.

Enjoy reading-cum experiencing ….