“A big confusion”, the writer girl was about to bite her nails. “What happened?” She asked her. “I want to write fiction, but they said personal stories will win hearts.”

“Hmm. See, personal stories make you bold. Fearless. They give you wings. But…”

“But”? The writer girl asked her with a pair of curious eyes. “But fiction helps you connect the dots. Fill in the blanks. Converse with the silence. But…”

“What again?” Annoyed with her series of pauses, the writer girl asked her.

“You know what”, turning to the girl she said, “It’s all about telling your story. Your story, kindly note.”  Giving another blow to the hookah, with a mysterious smile, she said, “Just like you’re reading mine.” Her voice danced. “Oh, I had to visit the publisher so many times to get my book published. It was hectic for me at the age of 50, you know!” Relishing with the vintage hookah, she continued, “Moreover, I had a bad bout of asthma. But the hard work paid back well.” Like a roller coaster, her voice was going up and down. Turning to the girl, with a glowing face, she said, “It feels like floating with the clouds on the sky, when you receive your book! I still remember the day when the first copy of my book reached me. 22nd November, 1924. Exactly one hundred years ago.”