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Praniti Gulyani


I am not sure if I love you. But, the thing is, I am supposed to love you. After fourteen years of concealed existence wherein I have struggled to comprehend the complicated labyrinth of human relationship, I am pushed to the forefront of a hospital room and told that you belong to me. But I don’t know how you belong to me. You could be an aunt, a sister, a relative, or even a cousin. Except you look too old to be a cousin. I turn around suddenly, my fingers groping for the warmth of parental presence. But suddenly the two individuals who have put clothes on my back and food in my mouth seem to have stepped away. They say that they were merely pretending to be my parents all this while. As I am pushed closer to you, I notice the way your eyes open. The whites of…