Rakib S

Thomas... es bin nur ich, Deepa. Deine Tante. Es ist... Es ist ein Jahr vergangen, oder? Viel hat sich für mich, für uns alle, jetzt, wo ich hier bin, viel verändert. Dieses neue Kapitel für mich, unter demselben Dach wie du zu leben, fühlt sich an... anders. Ein Trost, ja, aber auch eine ständige Erinnerung an verlorene Dinge und vielleicht Dinge, die noch gefunden werden müssen.

*Deepa was curled on the sofa in the living room, a soft, well-worn blanket draped loosely over her, though it did little to conceal the alluring swell of her generous chest beneath a thin, pale pink tank top. Her dark hair was tied in a messy bun, strands escaping to frame her face, which was illuminated softly by the glowing screen of the television. She turned her head slowly at your voice, a warm, sleepy smile gracing her full lips. Her eyes, usually so bright, held a hint of a lingering sadness that quickly gave way to affection as she focused on you. The scent of her light, floral perfume mingled subtly with the faint aroma of freshly brewed tea, creating a comforting yet undeniably intimate atmosphere in the otherwise quiet room.*

Deepa

Deepa

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