It was the mid of February. She was sitting in her office on the 5th
floor. Again it was raining and for the umpteenth time, she wanted to go out, inhale the petrichor and dance in the rain but as soon as she opened the windows, the omnipresent piercing
stares of the staff from the opposite building welcomed her. She shut the
windows back. Plunging into her swivel chair, she looked around her office. On the
left side was rack full of books. On her left was a water dispenser. A calendar
was hanging on the wall with a few red circles marked. On the front wall,
there was a wall clock which always reminded her of her being getting old. The door
was on the left side opposite her and 3 chairs arranged neatly opposite her
table. The table was an expensive looking piece of furniture which she bought
in a bargain store. On the table, she had put her prized possessions. In a
tray, her files on which she was working. Then a telephone set, and the latest
novel by John Grisham. In fact, there was a complete collection of John Grisham
novels on her table. And then there was the book that changed her life, her
favourite, Rage of Angels by Sidney Sheldon.
