The sun shone brightly on the land of the silent houses, proudly displaying the warmth of its youthfulness.
The forgotten place had few ancient bungalows, scattered lazily on a small chunk of land, with the fewer inhabitants dwelling in them; perhaps the remoteness of the place had shrank the number of dwellers of this part of the town or perhaps this corner of the town was too insignificant to hold on the inhabitants for long. But as they say so, these tens of white and yellow bungalows had a thousand of tales to tell; the mysterious, the horror, the ancient as the buildings were themselves, some interesting and some dull ones; thousands of them.
One afternoon a young man prowled among these ebbed mansions; wiping sweat from his forehead and looking at the sun occasionally; probably begging for mercy. His long gray Kurta, drenched in sweat, exposed the torture of…
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