"Life is the price we pay for running away from death "
































































It was a crime of passion. Nothing less, I would say!
 
What else would you call it?
 
Just look at the circumstances. So very normal. The same girl, with the same silky hair let down, wearing her nightie as usual, coming out to broom the portico at the same time every morning. And what is special if she sings a tune while she works? And there is nothing extraordinary in her having a beautiful voice, right? Also, it is just the usual chill morning when many couples take their morning walk holding hands and hugging lightly, with the odd one here and there hugging a bit more tightly.
 
It was entirely a passionate move from his side. He was not the only one who stood in the balcony on that morning - many neighbours stood and looked at her too. The songs she sung were not just his favourite, they were a rage all over the country. If he liked her flowing tresses, he frolicsome gait in going about her work, and the curves on her slender body, it was never meant to be fodder for his arousal, was it?
 
There was nothing circumstantial that was targeted towards him, and, hence, which should have spiked his interest. It was only his passion, his own bloody inner temptation, that made him walk up to her and say, "I love you!"
 
Did he even know what was in her mind? Did he ever think what future they will have at all? Or if that so-called love was legitimate, or if it would sustain for ever with the same intent and content? It was certainly a crime of passion. When a move is made without knowledge and certainty, it always becomes a crime of passion, isn't it?
 
And why is it always a crime? Well, the world's not lasting for ever, right? 
 
 
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