*Home is a person you come back to not a place*
“There is something wrong”
“I love you”
“ Yeh baat main janta hoon”
“ Yeah...whatever, but main khud nahi jaanti thi...but I know, mujhe realise ho raha hai ki I love you”
“ Fuck what does that mean?”
“Fuck! Nothing...That is all, we should stay together”
“ I will find a job tumhare shaher mein...yeh long distance mere se nahi hoga”
“ But we are not sure of anything, you know that right?”
“ Abey yaar, jo sure the woh bhi mare hi na ek din...I mean abhi waqt hai na...mujhe tumhare saath rehna hai, tumhe haste bolte dekhna hai...
..I mean I am not in a relationship with this fucking phone...I don’t want to look at the damn screen of this cell phone and imagine things...I want to look into your eyes and reflect”
“Hmm...kitti bottle? Sach sach batana!”
“ I mean fuck!With my imaginations I want to write stories, poetries, design, define...but not love...I want.. real love...I want to hold you, kiss you, I want to listen to your travel stories face to face,I want you to listen to my snoring every night...I want to fucking eat with you, fight with you and at the end of the day hug you and sleep!
“Kab nahi...ab....kab mein der ho jati hai, I want to love you whole not in pieces...I am coming...fasle kum Karne ke liye faisle zaruri hai...train se augi...nazm likhte likhte...yeh hawaijahaz ke paise bache rehne do, ladai ke baad jane mein kaam ayege...waise bhi sabko jana jaldi hota hai, ane mein hi deri karte hain...mujhe jaldi ana hai...jane ka sochenge”
“Fuck you...Chal aaja Chotu Motu”