This story was published in Induswomanwriting.com
The balcony looked desolate. Most of the pots were broken. Meena felt a pang when she saw the lone cactus plant in a corner bravely holding up. Waves of guilt swept over her. “I don’t have a green thumb!” she muttered whenever visitors happened to peep into her balcony. The words sounded pitiful even to her own ears and sometimes she imagined the withering plants looked at her with accusation. Was she losing it? It was Ram who had bought the cactus anyway, so why did she care?
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