The child's silent weeping was worse than a tantrum or screaming. Her eyes welled up with the a sadness her young years should not possess. They showed her soul, aged by years of gritty work in a factory where she was no more than a cog made of flesh and blood - and all the more expendable for it. The silence of her cry was eerie, like she had been forced to learn how to do this. What would it take to mend a soul as damaged as that and who would try? Taksheel wanted to scoop her up and take her home, pour love into her until she felt safe enough to cry out loud when she felt hurt. But he was supposed to be a tough guy, immune to the weeping of a child.

By neeta, October 21, 2013.