The room stank of unexployment. Closed, small, foul with old vodka, crumpled Sainsburys vouchers and hardened pizza-crusts. But what does unemployment smell like?

"What even is this McKinsey shit?" Liam asked. His fingers hadn't let go of the neon-orange mud of ice-cold coffee, as black as the ink on his lecture notes.

Across the unemployment-thick room with the flickering 40-watt amber flashes, Jonathan smoked something half an inch long, "how do you not know? It's the most prominent consultant company on the planet."

Liam knocked the empty pizza-boxes to the floor by accident, where the dusty carpet held multiple unwashed dishes, "why have 'I' not heard of it then? Huh?"

"Simple. You're an idiot. McKinsey is to consultant companies what Goldman Sachs is to banks. All of the richest people in this world have travelled through McKinsey. Most of them, at-least."

Liam sighed and opened multiple tabs on his Lenovo, verifying Jonathan's stories. The keyboard rattled with Liam's typing, a couple of pings made the laptop shiver. Jonathan returned with bland spaghetti topped with Liam's black pepper. Liam noticed but said nothing, making a mental note to nick Jonathan's cookies later.

"Well?" Jonathan said.

"So it appears you were right," Liam grimaced as he sipped his venom-dark coffee, and felt the bitterness linger in throat like a physical thing.

"Send it in?"

"Send what in?"

"Your resume."

"The application process is a whole lot more complicated than that. But I might." The job-prospect made the room reel less, and the flickering bulb grew brighter, spotlighting Liam and Jonathan as they both hoped in unity.

Some of Jonathan's pasta fell to the ground, around crystalline bottle of gin, tinged jade-green at the sharp edges. Now with peppered pasta around like a nest of dead worms, "it will be worth it, Liam. I believe in you!"

Liam's heart raced. "Help me through it."

"What? And not get drunk and pull at the gay club next-doors?" Jonathan laughed.

Liam slouched in his chair, waving the mosquitos away. Who knows where these mosquitoes came from? They must've honed in on the foul, delicious scent of piss and poverty, in a living-room slightly less misty with unemployment.

…

Three hours later, and nine neon-red jugs of dark coffee later, Liam snored on his glowing laptop screen as it pinged with a notification from McKinsey. The room smelled clearer. Was it the opened window? Jonathan, perfumed and intoxicated, read the messages on Liam's Lenovo and smiled as he took his hookup upstairs.

For those who know and those who don't, I wrote a novel that I left unpublished due to financial constraints as well as conflicting opinions about the content, which received a plethora of varying informal feedback.
While I would actively pursue publishing the novel itself, editing the ideas in it would take too much time, and unless I'm happy with the   Skeleton of it, I'm not convinced I should alter the Flesh off of it.

Therefore, Id much rather edit the 25 short-stories that follow the adventures of Ronan, Diego, Juliette and the healer-alien Aspar, because they're much more manageable.

I'll put excerpts from the 25 short-stories here as I finish their edit.

I'm currently trying to recover the data on my USB port, and once my stories are with me again… we'll take it from there!

I met a German robin during my stay in Bristol. It had golden hair like the sun does and a voice of liquid light, and flew in from behind a cloud made of pure, milky opal.

It found me online when I had a broken wing, and tended to me as best as it could. It sang to me and kept me happy when I was in pain, but it flew away when my wing healed, and I, being a lion-cub, couldn't see beyond the opal cloud it hid behind.

The robin cared. It had a large heart, and knew what lion-boys wanted, and so, flew on its glorious German passport across borders like the wind, and folded its wings near my tiny nest, small, cold, but just right enough for two people. There were five other lion-cubs on lower branches of my tree, but they didn't matter. We made a fire and cooked butternut squash on it and learned to match roar and chirp, so we could sing together. We danced to the night under lots of stars, flew to zoos and shopping-malls and university lectures, pawed each other over an umbrella, played games with other lion-cubs.

And at night, always, the robin would peck my neck to sleep.

The German robin is gone back to its own Hamburgian robin family now, though it's always flying somewhere or the other, but my tiny nest feels bigger and emptier with it gone. But maybe, one day, with the sun shining over an opal cloud, it'll fly down and find me again.

My life has altered significantly since I left Karachi, which is why I've been so absent for so long. I humbly apologize, oh handful of beautiful followers.

I've moved to Bristol, in the U.K., for the second year of my BSc Economics degree. It's like my personal, steely storm-cloud, slamming my head with books that could be used to deadlift.

And me?

I'm a lone warrior of light, playing at  my life in university.

Food! Feeding oneself happily to replenish the health and stamina bar is crucial. Or the game is over.

Money. To get anywhere fast, you need to take a shortcut to prioritise bigger things. Money is a shortcut to better defense, renown, and power. It's a luxury and a necessity at the same time. You can't have enough of it, even when you work 6 hours a day for £7 per hour.

Friends. They're the NPCs who give your life a purpose. They're little banks who randomly spout tiny treasures, like a laugh, leftover garlic bread, or an opponent in Uno, because they're the best treasures of them all.

Education. You have one goal. One central mission to lead you. Most other things are subsidiary. Of-course it makes certain choices easy, but it also means the battles are harder, and the loot is better. Orchish lecturers spin hundreds of paper webs to beguile, but the experience, renown and learning to attain behind the webs is worth it.

Love. The quest for your Player 2 is unending.

Fun. And no matter what happens at the end of the path you walk, you win by stopping to breathe, looking around, and enjoying the game you play.

Now if only we could have unlimited backpack space. 😉

Squawk!!!

Watercolour on Arches
Watercolour on Arches

"Moby Dick seeks thee not. It is thou, thou that madly seekest him!" – Flask to Captain Ahab.

Watercolour on Arches
Watercolour on Arches

I love Economics, it is true. Far more interesting than figuring out why atoms of carbon bond to atoms of oxygen, I think that it's far more interesting to understand the psychology and science of human interaction that makes the world what it is, with problems of poverty, inequality, and lawlessness breathing on our necks.

I bought the famous book by Greg Smith, who joined Goldman Sachs in 2001, the metaphorical Rolls Royce of companies adorning Wall Street, who witnesses, by piercing layer after layer, by learning and exploiting the tricks that helped him sieve his way up into the top tiers, how corrupt and grossly profit-oriented the institutional mechanism is. Which moulds minds to be ruthless and single-minded to a fault, which filters away honesty, integrity and sincerity and pays in cold cash for other ideals to benefit the company. A company that gambles with quadrillions, and treats people like

sheep

and larger institutions like

puppets.

All for a minimum of $250,000 a year. And trust me, this is the cringey vibe I got from a single 7.5 page chapter and the 50-word blurb!

I wasn't born with a golden spoon in my anus, and neither am I anal about deontological morals (those that clearly list certain acts as completely good or completely evil,) as I believe reality is subjective, and there are more greys than black or white. I understand the lure and temptation of money, and monetary comforts, especially for those who have experienced otherwise, but I am flabbergasted by what took place on Wall Street. And what probably still takes place now.

Is it naivete to feel so emotionally betrayed? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

I love economics and I love it still. Reading Greg Smith sends shivers into my spine, because it lets me embrace how twisted the world is, and in some strange, perverse way, I enjoy life and what that encompasses, despite the brokenness of it.

I only realize, that if I were to make a professional choice, doing anything along the lines of global 'investment banking' and 'financial services' would be out of the question. I think I'll stick to economic consultancy. FrontierEconomics or Oxera, perchance.

(And gladly take advice on how to achieve that as well!)

We'll see.

In the medieval fantasy of 'A Song of Ice and Fire,'knighthood is a powerful cultural dynamic. Knights are brave, courageous, honourable, and true to their word.They perform noble deeds, are skilled at arms, and ride away with fair maidens on their steeds, into the sunset. Such is knighthood glorified in song and tale, especially for the young maiden, Sansa Stark.

Sansa has lived her youth isolated in Winterfell, so her only exposure to knighthood has been through song and story. King's Landing, however, is not the place it appears to be, and knighthood is a farce, an aspect of the warped un-idealistic reality she soon comes to embrace.

She acquaints herself with three knights, parodies and shadows of the glorious heroes in shining armour she fantasized about before leaving Winterfell, and they each equip Sansa with the world's complexities and cruelties.

Knight One: Ser Loras Tyrell

Loras Tyrell 2

Loras Tyrell, third son to Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, is visibly impressive; he is aware of his duties as a knight, and is beautiful and a skilled warrior, but his inner motivations are far more subtle.

Loras is the only knight who physically sways Sansa Stark. He is of exceptional beauty, with flowing, brown hair and eyes of gold. He is skilled with weapons, and uses swords, morningstars and axes to deadly effect, but interacts courteously and politely with her. He appears to Sansa in all his glory at her father's tourney, where he unseats the monstrous and brutish Gregor Clegane, and afterwards, valiantly but humbly, offers the tourney victory to Sandor Clegane, who saved his life. He also gifts Sansa a token red rose, as opposed to the other girls, whom he offers a white rose. Later on, Sansa dreams of marrying him and the prospect of this marriage allowing her escape to the picturesque Highgarden.

But Loras is gay, having a secret affair with Renly Baratheon, which makes him physically and emotionally incapable of being with Sansa Stark, or returning her love. It is this very fact that turns their brief, polite conversations into strained, angry silence, leading Sansa to blame herself. He fights for glory and title, showing off in resplendent armour and showboating often. He would do anything to win, as his victory over Gregor Clegane is secured using an underhanded trick. Much like his sister Margaery, and grandmother, Olenna, he arms himself with courtesy to mask and distract, e.g. when he indirectly refers to his lover Renly as 'the sun,' whom no 'candle can replace.' His tokens of love, e.g. the roses, are hollow, and he easily forgets about them, and he joins the Kingsguard merely as an excuse to save his family dishonour, and bury rumours about Renly and himself. The prospect of marriage unnerves Sansa, as she comes to realize that any marriage with the Tyrells would be to claim the North in her name, and not for true love at all.

Knight Two: Sandor 'the Hound' Clegane

Sansa and Sandor

The opposite of Ser Loras Tyrell: Sandor Clegane, the Hound is Joffrey's bodyguard, and later, 'knight' of the Kingsguard, who shows Sansa Stark, that beauty, position and glory are hollow. He comes from a lesser house in absolute service to House Lannister, and is completely subservient to the very boy who killed Sansa's father, Eddard Stark. He has grotesque facial scars and an uneven face, and unlike Loras, he doesn't dress himself in thick, rich clothes boasting his house, but chooses practical, plain armour. He is savagely blunt and profane, and speaks brutal truth where need be, using words as his weapon in contrast to Loras, who sweetens truth with courtesy. He understands that knighthood is about climbing the social ladder, or earning gold, as necessitated by his lower status, that titles such as 'ser' are hollow, and 'knightly' feats of jousting are nor related to real battle or life. He proves this by rescuing a show-boating Loras Tyrell from the wrath of his brother, Gregor Clegane, which earns him victory at the Hand's tourney.

He is enamored with Sansa Stark, and helps her confront the brutal truth, which helps her face many trials in King's Landing, such as lying to Joffrey or Cersei. He calls her 'a little bird' who chirps on command, and perhaps it is symbolic in that she confronts him in the godswood, a holy place for her people. He often shows great kindness, restraint and provides comfort when he strategically defends Sansa, e.g. when Sansa begs Joffrey to spare Dontos Hollard. He is the only Kingsguard who doesn't beat her. In a symbolic token, he gives Sansa a hankerchief to wipe her wounds with, and a cloak to guard her nudity. He murders Sansa's assailants during the riot at King's Landing, and takes her back unharmed. He offers to help Sansa escape from King's Landing, and true to his word as a 'knight,' he elicits a promised song from her in her bed, song and bed and vow being climactic symbols of knightly virtue that close upon the couple's relationship, following which Sandor Clegane flees King's Landing.

Knight Three: Dontos Hollard

Hollard sprite

Ser Dontos Hollard is the last surviving member of a lesser house once loyal to House Darklyn, a vassal house to House Targaryen. He offers a bit of role-reversal and symbolism to the story, adding to the duplicity of knights.

There's role-reversal when Sansa Stark, the fair maiden, convinces Joffrey, the monster, to spare Dontos Hollard, the knight, and when she visits the godswood to meet him. Sansa Stark embodies the knightly virtues of courage, wisdom, honour and truthfulness, when she dares to speak against Joffrey, using her words as weapons, and even later on, when she cleverly escapes her chambers to meet Dontos, keeping her word to him as promised. On the other hand, Dontos Hollard is meek, submissive and craven, acting on the orders of an unreliable man for gold. In doing so, he betrays Sansa's trust and sells her secrets to benefit himself.

Nevertheless, the relationship between Dontos and Sansa is riddled with token imagery from song and story, as they refer to each other as 'Florian' and 'Jonquil' to mimic the idealistic romance in the Age of Heroes. They have secret meetings in the woods to make elaborate plans, and kiss when they do.

Finally, when Dontos repays the favour owed to Sansa when he saves her. The rescue mocks a knightly rescue, but Dontos doesn't act independently, or courageously. He kills not by sword but by a hair-net, and does so for greed. There is no reward or happy-ending. Sansa is ferried away with an uncertain ally, and Dontos is killed.

One might question why Martin creates no more than 3 powerful knights to teach Sansa of the state of affairs at King's Landing:

Probably because Sansa learns all that she needs to from King's Landing from the three she meets, and no more lessons remain in the Vale, where she could have no better teacher than Petyr 'Littlefinger' Baelish, who allows her to equip what she has learnt to better defend herself in the challenges to come.

The direwolf is a mythological beast and the sigil of House Stark of Winterfell in 'A Song of Ice and Fire' by George R. R. Martin. They appear as newborn pups within 5 chapters of the series, and live as close companions of the six children of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. Martin uses them as literary devices not only to complement the Stark children, but also to exaggerate, empower, contrast, and forewarn the readers.

Grey Wind, direwolf to Robb Stark

Robb

Direwolf to the eldest son of Eddark Stark, Grey Wind balances Robb's muscle with its titular speed, and thus, always acts as a counterpoint to Robb's weaknesses, creating a coherent whole. It's nomenclature hints at simplicity. Robb has the greatest amount of control and power over his direwolf, and can warg into his wolf confidently, even if he doesn't realize what he's explicitly doing. Grey Wind is a military and political tool, sniffing out hidden routes, launching surprise-attacks, and ruthlessly murdering Robb's enemies on the battlefield. He serves to intimidate foreign arbitrators, and earns Robb respect and reputation amongst his own followers, e.g. the proud Umbers. Given Robb's exquisite extent of control and practical employment of Grey Wind to his cause as heir to Winterfell and King in the North, the deterioration of his relationship with Grey Wind hints at his own downfall, and this trend repeats itself with the other children as well.

His decision to betray the Freys when he marries Jeyne Westerling, who's frightened of Grey Wind, causes him to willingly confine his direwolf (an ironic contrast to the unwilling confinements of Lady, Summer, Shaggydog and Ghost.) He grows distant and detached from Grey Wind, and thus, from his truer self, as Catelyn warns:

These wolves are more than wolves, Robb. You must know that. I think perhaps the gods sent them to us. Your father's gods, the old gods of the north.

Robb starts mistrusting his instincts, as well as those of his closest companion, his mother, Catelyn. Grey Wind is suspicious of Rolph and Sybill Spicer, relatives of Jeyne Westerling, and is wrathful and anxious during the Red Wedding, where the Freys insist him bound. The Red Wedding notoriously claims his life.

In an unprecedented climax of irony, Robb Stark's body is sewn to Grey Wind's head, the two once-distant companions reuniting in one body.

Lady, direwolf to Sansa Stark

Sansa

Sansa's direwolf is the smallest of the litter, and the most tame, trusting, dainty, well-groomed and well-mannered, taking perfectly after her owner. Sansa's idealism is reflected in the nomenclature of her direwolf, 'Lady.' Though Sansa is reluctant about chaining her direwolf, she prioritizes her Prince Joffrey, an act of confinement that portends ill. Lady is unable to protect Sansa from the worst of abuse, and Lady's orchestrated execution by Queen Cersei seems a counterpoint to the unorchestrated scaring-away of Nymeria into the forest. Lady's loss shatters Sansa's idealism and fancies to an extent, and leaves her vulnerable and adrift.

Due to Lady's death, Sansa is the only sibling unable to warg.

Sandor 'the Hound' Clegane, companion to Sansa Stark

As a hostage in King's Landing, the Hound acts as a twisted, terrifying warping of Lady, Sansa's original guardian. Unlike her direwolf, the Hound is ugly, verbally blunt, savage, uncontrollable, and protects the boy who killed Sansa's father. He symbolizes everything Lady could not be, and helps Sansa embrace reality: that good and evil are not determined by beauty, that knighthood is a farce, and that truth is complicated.

The Hound's relationship with Sansa mocks and parodies the knightly tales idealised in song, as the Hound saves her from assailants, covers her with his cloak, refuses to strike her, shares her bed, and listens to her sing.

The Old Blind Dog at the Fingers, companion to Sansa Stark

The old, blind dog temporarily replaces Lady as Sansa Stark's companion at the dangerous Fingers, where she's with the manipulative and unreliable Lord Petyr Baelish and the unstable Lysa Arryn. The dog's grotesque helplessness signifies Sansa's vulnerability still, making it all the more palpable. In longing, Sansa muses,

I wish that you were Lady.

Nymeria, direwolf to Arya Stark

ARYA

Much like her sister's direwolf, Nymeria very closely resembles her master: strong, fierce, wilful and highly protective. Nymeria has a mind of her own, and immediately rushes to protect Arya from Prince Joffrey, as a counterpoint to Lady's inability to help Sansa.

Much like Arya, Nymeria loses herself and wanders from place-to-place without a fixed destination, and starts to lead a deadly pack of wolves and hounds. Similarly, Arya befriends many people e.g. Hot Pie, Gendry, Jaqen H'gar, Beric Dondarrion, etc. who teach her and refine her into a more savage killer, as Nymeria transforms into as well. Arya still share a warg's connection with her, and is able to stay aware of her identity and strength through it. Nymeria offers Arya some delayed, yet brutal resolution to her plans: Nymeria discovers the river-rotten body of her mother, Catelyn Stark, whom Arya was seeking; Nymeria also murders Lannisters and members of the Bloody Mummers, both of whom treated Arya cruelly while she was at their mercy.

Sandor 'the Hound' Clegane, companion to Arya Stark

Their relationship parodies not only Arya's relationship with Nymeria, but also the Sansa-Sandor dynamic. The Hound represents all of Nymeria's savage single-mindedness. To both sisters, he acts as a teacher of harsh reality and strength in perilous times, though he does so by opposing Arya, while befriending Sansa.

He murders Arya's friend, Mycah, at Prince Joffrey's command, kidnaps Arya Stark to ransom her to her relatives, and inspires Arya's understanding of slaughter, feuling the raw hatred that drives her missions. Unlike Nymeria, he offers direct, yet often incomplete resolution, as he allows Arya to witness Walder Frey betraying her family at the Red Wedding, and helps her defeat her earlier assailants, e.g. Polliver, and recover Needle.

Summer, direwolf to Bran Stark

Brandon

Bran Stark is the last of the Stark children to name his direwolf. A large amount of delay is due to being in a coma after falling from the Broken Tower. The delay reflects Bran's loss of identity and his sense of self when he loses his feet, and the nomenclature suggests Bran's innocent longing for summer and lost happiness, a sharp counter-point to the omenous strain repeated throughout the series, 'Winter is Coming.' Bran's wolf, Summer, is kept unwillingly confined while he remains Lord of Winterfell during Robb Stark's absence, suggesting his own entrapment to a lord's boring routine, and his lack of freedom to follow his dream of becoming a knight. Nevertheless, Summer is as responsible as Bran, who is forced into his role as Lord of Winterfell: Summer subdues Shaggydog's tantrums and protects Bran from wildlings. Bran retains his iconic, lovable childishness, exploring the forest and playfully fighting Shaggydog, as Summer.

Summer exhibits many weaknesses and failings, taking after Bran the 'Broken': he iconically falls off a tree while trying to escape, and is wounded by an arrow when trying to protect Bran from wildlings, as opposed to Grey Wind. Bran is tremendously dependent on Summer, as Bran is on his allies, e.g. Jojen Reed guides him to the Three-Eyed Raven, Osha protects Rickon, Hodor carries him, and he trains to be a warg through Summer. In the course of time, Summer becomes a tool of survival, a key player in Bran Stark's story, and stronger and more confident with time, like Bran, as Jojen Reed says:

… the grey one is strong… stronger than he knows….

Summer heroically murders the undead beyond the Wall and leads a pack of wolves in the same way Bran leads the Reeds and Hodor to the Three-Eyed Raven.

Shaggydog, direwolf to Rickon Stark

Rickon

Shaggydog is of the most physically distinguishable direwolves, jet-black with leaf-green eyes, suggesting perhaps an untamed wildness and yet, a raw, beautiful innocence. The nomenclature draws attention to Shaggydog's physical unkemptness, as well as his likeness to a rabid, unthinking mongrel. He takes after his tantrum-throwing four-year old master, who is left abandoned and uncared for in the fighting, and has thus grown savage, and

…full of fear and rage.

This escalates to the point where he can not be caged for long without being set free by Rickon, nor can he be trusted with familiars at Winterfell like Mikken or Maester Luwin. The growing savageness of the wolf is hinted through his presence on an island of cannibals, Skagos, and his battle with a unicorn, perhaps indicating that Rickon Stark still has a formidable role to play in the stories to follow.

Ghost, direwolf to Jon Snow

Jon

The silent Ghost stands is as physically distinguishable as Shaggydog, with white hair and blood-red eyes. As a silent albino, Ghost symbolized Jon as part of the Stark family, yet unique and isolated as the bastard son with no voice. Ghost's name encapsulates all his attributes in one word, being a clever, creative name. Ghost's white fur compliments Jon's surname of Snow, and his eyes hint at a deadliness.

He's not like the others. He never makes a sound. That's why I named him Ghost. That, and because he's white. The others are all dark, grey or black.

Ghost is notable especially for his intelligence: he is a direct enhancer of Jon's personality instead of a balancer, like Grey Wind is to Robb. He opened his eyes first, and developed greatly in size, in the same way Jon Snow quickly learnt many things from Jeor Mormont, Ygritte, Benjen Stark etc. at the Wall, and grew stronger as a person. Ghost was able to detect the Wight threatening Jeor Mormont, and return with a dead hand, spot a cache of obsidian etc. proving his quickness of mind, as Jon has demonstrated with Longclaw, as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and the Others at Hardhome.

Nevertheless, Ghost is often a burden to Jon, enhancing many of the internal conflicts he already struggles with. He sends visions to Jon of his family, e.g. of Nymeria and Shaggydog, while sensing that Summer is absent. Jon comes to completely accept and appreciate his warg's bond through wildling support. Ghost disappears for a long amount of time, and seems to like dubious people such as Melisandre of Asshai or the seductive Val. The Night's Watch condemn him to keep Ghost imprisoned, and mirroring Robb and Grey Wind, Ghost lashes out in fear of Jon's safety in the mutiny at Castle Black, but is unable to save him when he is stabbed. Ghost's survival suggests that Jon may still have a role to play in the game.

Farewell…

We met in June by a chance encounter. And through some stupid, terrifying joke of Fate (also I blame THAT CUNT!) we're separating near the end of August, a week earlier than necessary. A good two months of summer in Karachi, it's been. It feels like a lot is left to be said, a lot more to be done, to be given and taken. But it's best not to focus on what could have been, and instead, focus on what was, and what is!

I won't lie to you: I've got strong emotions (unlike you you undead piece of shit.) I deviate from moods where I can pee on cold graves to carve out my heart for someone (you'd be my Calypso and I'd be your Davey Jones.) It's my weakness, like an exposed vein on whom people have tread by accident, and so, it's something I tend to guard as a precaution. And I felt like my exposed vein was in tatters when the news broke. I'm disquietened. It feels so unfair. Because it is. It's life. How could what started off so beautifully end so suddenly?

Yet. I have no regrets. I will always be happy we met. And I'll always be happy for you. We have many, many memories to treasure from our time together. Let me remind you of them:

Pulling and tugging each other at the beach, and nearly toppling over in the crash of waves, where we broke my slippers and lost my hat, as well as some of my "dignity."

The random trips to Lal's and Espresso for coffee, chicken etc. and sneakily chomping down on them when no-one was looking because that was illegal.

The apprehension, coercion, deceit and bribery that had us sick to our guts, which we laughed about a few moments after in your van.

The nightly games and bets online that kept us till 4 a.m. in the morning.

The sassy, snappy way we judged other people.

The excursion to Hill Park to bravely inquire about their pond (SAVE THE BIRDS!), the bumper-car disaster, and the scary ride that didn't work.

Playing with my Elder Wand or my Turkish top, going Wonder Woman on me in Injustice, and religiously following each others' blogs.

The horrible Pakistani movie you were biased towards, because mutilating genitals without consent is not cool.

Helping me through my grief, and having your back when you didn't make it to your University of choice (which is a part of life.)

And some of the better things are perhaps those which I can't even mention (for sake of my privacy and yours!)

I wish you peace, prosperity and success in all your endeavours, and hope you are always content and happy in this life. But I won't say good-bye. Because saying good-bye means going away, and going away means forgetting. So I will only say that I look forward to the next time we meet. And we shall!

Lava.