Time was to be the only healer and that, not very successful in its efforts.Every year, the ever dwindling numbers of ex-service men, filed along the Mall in a proud march, to lay wreaths of poppies at the Cenotaph and pay their respects. Each with his own story of his part in the last world war, Each holding their memories of fallen comrades, small and large victories, amusing anecdotes and tales to enthral young children, or bore the elder, young men. Not all of the war had been about blood and guts, mud, hard rations or killing the Germans and the Japanese. Some of it had lighter moments, but not much.Every year he stood apart away from the massed crowds and watched. Nobody ever spoke to him of the scene or of what it represented. He watched alone, and then left when it was done, back to his little flat in Chelsea, back to his loneliness and the memories of his lost love, dead these past forty-nine years, dead and saved from the possibility of execution, dead by his own hand. Each. I was shocked and scared.But as I was clear with my behaviour I went to her house which is a bit away from other houses at a dark corner of the lane. I never expected any of her intentions because she’ll be always with a smile on her face. I entered her house I surprised no one was there. She opened the lock and we entered the house.It was a small house with a low roof. Very small house but well-arranged and neat. The situation was something like everything happening but nothing happening. She closed the doors saying if someone finds us inside people feel wrong about us later I found she did all this intentionally.She said she wants to take bath as she started working in the afternoon and she’s full of sweat. I didn’t take her much serious. She had intention behind that. It was really a small house of one small hall and a bed room. The bathroom was commonly visible to the one sitting in both the rooms. There was no door to the bathroom. She started taking bath partially visible to.
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