basically chapter one is same fr both d couples hmm d next part onwards il b updating in two forms till den njoy.. d more lyks n comments d more faster ul get d updates...
MIRACLES
WHO AM I? And how, I wonder, will this story end?
The sun has come up and I am sitting by a window that is foggy with
the breath of a life gone by. I'm a sight this morning: two shirts,
heavy pants, a scarf wrapped twice around my neck and tucked into a
thick sweater knitted by my daughter thirty birthdays ago. The
thermostat in my room is set as high as it will go, and a smaller space
heater sits directly behind me. II clicks and groans and spews hot air
like a fairy-tale dragon, and still my body shivers with a cold that will
never go away, a cold that has been eighty years in the making.
Eighty years. I wonder if this is how it is for everyone my age.
My life? It isn't easy to explain. It has not been the rip-roaring
spectacular I fancied it would be, but neither have I burrowed around
with the gophers. I suppose it has most resembled a blue-chip stock:
fairly stable, more ups than downs, and gradually trending upwards
over time. I've learned that not everyone can say this about his life.
But do not be misled. I am nothing special, of this I am sure. I am a
common man with common thoughts, and I've led a common life.
There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be
forgotten, but I've loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me
this has always been enough.
The romantics would call this a love story: the cynics would call it a
tragedy. In my mind it's a little bit of both, and no matter how you
choose to view it in the end, it does not change the fact that it involves
a great deal of my life. I have no complaints about the path I've
chosen to follow and the places it has taken me—the path has always
been the right one. I wouldn't have had it any other way.
Time, unfortunately doesn't make it easy to stay on course. The path
is straight as ever, but now it is strewn with the rocks and gravel that
accumulate over a lifetime. Until three years ago it would have been
easy to ignore, but it's impossible now. There is a sickness rolling
through my body; I'm neither strong nor healthy, and my days are
spent like an old party balloon: listless, spongy and growing softer
over time.
I cough, and through squinted eyes I check my watch. I realize it is
time to go. I stand and shuffle across the room; stopping at the desk to
pick up the notebook I have read a hundred times. I slip it beneath my
arm and continue on my way to the place I must go.
I walk on tiled floors, white speckled with grey. Like my hair and
the hair of most people here, though I'm the only one in the hallway
this morning. They are in their rooms, alone except for television, but
they, like me, are used to it. A person can get used to anything, given
enough lime.
I hear the muffled sounds of crying in the distance and know who is
making them. The nurses see me and we smile and exchange
greetings. I am sure they wonder about me and the things that I go
through every day. I listen as they begin to whisper among themselves
when I pass.
"There he goes again." I hear. "I hope it turns out well." But they
say nothing directly to me about it.
A minute later, I reach the room. The door has been propped open
for me, as it usually is. There are two nurses in the room, and as I
enter they say "Good morning" with cheery voices, and I take a
moment to ask about the kids and the schools and upcoming
vacations. We talk above the crying for a minute or so. They do not
seem to notice: they have become numb to it, but then again, so have
I.
Afterwards I sit in the chair that has come to be shaped like me.
They are finishing up now; her clothes are on, but she is crying. It will
become quieter after they leave. I know. The excitement of the
morning always upsets her, and today is no exception. Finally the
nurses walk out. Both of them touch me and smile as they walk by.
I sit for just a second and stare at her, but she doesn't return the
look. I understand, for she doesn't know who I am. I'm a stranger to
her. Then, turning away, I how my head and pray silently for the
strength I know I will need.
Ready now. On go the glasses, out of my pocket comes a magnifier.
I put it on the table for a moment while I open the notebook. It takes
two licks on my gnarled finger to get the well-worn cover open to the
first page. Then I put the magnifier in place.
There is always a moment right before I begin to read the story when
my mind churns, and I wonder, will it happen today? I don't know,
for I never know beforehand and deep down it really doesn't matter.
It's the possibility that keeps me going. And though you may call me
a dreamer or a fool. I believe that anything is possible.
I realize that the odds, and science, are against me. But science is not
the total answer. This I know, this I have learned in my lifetime. And
that leaves me with the belief that miracles, no matter how
inexplicable or unbelievable, are real and can occur without regard to
the natural order of things. So once again, just as I do every day, I
begin to read the notebook aloud, so that she can hear it, in the hope
that the miracle that has come to dominate my life will once again
prevail.
And maybe, just maybe, it will.
-----------------------------------------------------
here goes d intro part do lemme knw hw was it..
fr pm's add nj_swaron to ur buddy list plz i dnt send pm's frm dis account...
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
Seher Hone Ko Hai
321