Naomi Lawson-Smith sat in swivel chairs in a miserable minimalist office, high up in the sky of London , on the sixteenth floor. They had no words for...one another; each had retreated to lick their wounds concerning the misguided experience. Yet work must go on. Christian Lawson-Smith was 38, tall, broad, olive skinned but a pain in the ass to work for, he had zero patience and was a surly bastard in the mornings. He wore unnecessary spectacles to emanate a higher intelligence. He had dark hair. From the next shelf in the wardrobe, I picked up a cream coloured semi transparent lehanga with red border and green stripes. I moved my hand into the next shelf, I took out a matching choli and the duppata. I remembered telling him that I love to wear lehangas and choli. Next wardrobe was a set of ornaments, in total there were complete set of three as if three girls can dress up at the same time. I choose the one matching to my dress, bangles and next was the anklets. It was a heavy silver. More

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