And I remembered about that call, today, like a falling hour in my pocket. (Read Caption) I wanted to question my mother, "Why do you always layer up your clothes?" when she said me to write dairy everyday. I always saw her looking in the mirror, trying to find herself when she touches her wrinkles and says, I will be old till your marriage, I laugh it away and forget. Forget, what she must be feeling, that I took her beauty, when I say she is my shadow, and people love me for who I am. And I say, I don't exist. When I touch my face, I feel like an old letter written in a foreign language, sometimes it makes me look good but I know that I am dying inside. I forget. I talk to my lover about my mother, and she says, she is a beautiful lady. I drop some tears, for I remember, what took away her beauty. It wasn't my father, who left my mother for another woman maybe she was more beautiful. But he came back running to her one day, and said, I have never seen anyone beautiful like you. I remember, why he said that, maybe he knew that my mother was dying inside too, when she wore cardigan in the cold summer, it was ironic like Aamir's first story. But I forgot, what he wrote. I called my mother today, wearing an cardigan which felt like waiting for someone from hours.
