"Stop! Stop!" She moaned.
She wasn't suppose to make love to him. But then, he fondled and she was flipped miles away from home.
He could have stopped.
She could have stopped him.
But... travelling was the only way to reach home. Reaching home took all her energy. She was tired, washed with sweat and powerlessly unwinding in his arm.
"What are you thinking?" Her home asked her.
"That if I hadn't travelled home today, for how long I would have wandered."
He just smiled in return, as if he felt what she was talking about. Maybe, she was a home too. Maybe, he walked the same journey. Maybe, Love is when a home meets another home, but both are nothing but traveller.
-Himanshu Appie Chhabra
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