There is something familiar about the sound of the rain on roofs. Of the screeches of car tires that hit the mudded streets. Of the ambiance brought by dim lights and heartfelt music. And of every vulgar talk and madness uttered in between.
The overwhelming sound and smell of freedom lie in front of her.
Caged—it doesn’t make sense actually. She was never forced to play outside the house. Ah, that house. It’s now ebbing along with the bright paints and flowery bushes and the aroma of freshly baked breads.
The reasons to stay are all fading. The desire to explore what’s beyond the world are coming in.
Is she even ready?
The risk. The sadness. The nights of tears and regrets. The nostalgia.
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