Kantha
The autumn evening was pleasantly breezy, gently swaying the trees in the neighbourhood. The sky was beginning to get suffused with patches of indigo, and the street lamps were on, emitting a crepuscular glow. Kantha was having her second cup of coffee for the evening. A faint haze of smoke from a mosquito coil filled the room; it made her throat scratchy. Perched on the sill of the bay window in her living room, she was discreetly watching her street through the chinks in the bamboo blinds. Her street was sparsely populated and was hence vulnerable to crime and other immoral activities. As a responsible citizen, it was her duty to keep a strict watch. She glanced at the wall clock. It was six-twenty p.m. Any minute, a questionable young man would creep up their street and sneak into the house across her's. Her neighbours were out, trusting their teenage daughter will use the alone time to revise the day's lessons. Kantha snorted at their naivety. She patted t...