I banged the door and left. All the pent-up frustrations of rising costs, mounting EMIs, blame game, everything was reflected in that bang.
I ran. Took a bus heading to Zallaq beach. I sat without knowing what I was going to do there.
But the sea beckoned me and I ran. Knee deep in water, soaking in the sunlight. embracing the wind, I felt truly alive.
The phone rang. ‘Thought I was dead, eh?’, I said in jest.
‘Nah, tell me where is the salt? Junior wants some noodles to eat?’, he said in a tone which spoke relief.
Sometimes problems just need some space; sometimes the problems are ourselves.
Fiction written as a part of Write Tribe’s 100 words on Saturday.