The Most Beautiful Story

A beautiful story you have to tell us. Something you read, Something you listen, Something belongs to your tradition. Please share with us.

Storytelling is the only bridge left, when we see this Clash of Civilizations. This week, forum is about most beatiful story or stories.

3 weeks ago, I started a forum on poems. Now, I’m encouraging people to share their souls through storytelling, through art, through poetry.

PLEASE COPY/PASTE OR WRITE your most beautiful story here. It can be a personal story, a legend, etc. We all are looking forward to this.

Thank you.

Comments

  1. Sami says:

    I loved ur story, it teaches us dat we shud never give up on our self nd on god almighty………….. trust, faith is an important part of our life to live wid………
    God bless u Paulo…………………..:)

  2. […] Source | Loosely based on a story found in Paulo Coelho […]

  3. Humaira says:

    hello Paulo,I am an M.Phil English student from Pakistan.I need an answer why You named Alchemest , alchemest .What is so significant about this name? waiting for reply

  4. anand says:

    When you’re lonely,
    I wish you love.
    When you’re down,
    I wish you joy.
    When you’re troubled,
    I wish you peace.
    When things are complicated,
    I wish you simple beauty.
    When things look empty,
    I wish you hope.

  5. anand says:

    As the sun rose, a dew drop became aware of its surroundings. There it sat on a leaf, catching the sunlight and throwing it back out. Proud of its simple beauty, it was very content. Around it were other dew drops, some on the same leaf and some on other leaves round about. The dew drop was sure that it was the best, the most special dew drop of them all.

    Ah, it was good to be a dew drop.

    The wind rose and the plant began to shake, tipping the leaf. Terror gripped the dew drop as gravity pulled it towards the edge of the leaf, towards the unknown. Why? Why was this happening? Things were comfortable. Things were safe. Why did they have to change? Why? Why?

    The dew drop reached the edge of the leaf. It was terrified, certain that it would be smashed into a thousand pieces below, sure that this was the end. The day had only just begun and the end had come so quickly. It seemed so unfair. It seemed so meaningless. It tried desperately to do whatever it could to cling to the leaf, but it was no use.

    Finally, it let go, surrendering to the pull of gravity. Down, down it fell. Below there seemed to be a mirror. A reflection of itself seemed to be coming up to meet the dew drop. Closer and closer they came together until finally…

    And then the fear transformed into deep joy as the tiny dew drop merged with the vastness that was the pond. Now the dew drop was no more, but it was not destroyed.

    It had become one with the whole.

  6. anand says:

    i love u mimi , u r really an angel ……..a gift of god

  7. Humaira says:

    hey all those who read Aleph,help me out which literary theory can be applied to it.

  8. rajveer kaur says:

    i just love this story……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….may you live long mimi

  9. Mimi says:

    You asked for a story… (I love stories.) Any kind of story?- I wonder. I have only mine to tell…I hope you like it.
    I was a premature baby, born at six months of pregnancy, under very difficult circumstances. Doctors had pressured my mother to have an abortion; they said the consequences would be disastrous if she didn’t… But she had the courage to believe a promise from God, and because of that now I’m here, writing this. And I was born, seemingly by accident, somewhere and sometime quite…unexpected. It started as a nightmare; my mother nearly died in that hospital… they say she had so much bleeding… it was weeks of waiting before I was born; and when the bleeding was so bad, and the situation so urgent that they had to interrupt the pregnancy. Her heart did stop, but it wasn’t time to go yet.
    And so I was born in the U.S. They say I was tiny. But God made me strong. I was born without an ear on the left side, and the other one deformed. The doctors weren’t even sure either me or my mother would live; and it wasn’t all; I was so small I would often have respiratory arrests and it seemed I also had problems in my heart, and my brain. They said that I would probably wouldn’t hear, see or both. But God said something else. It all ended like a fairy tale. My mom recovered. So did I. My father, mother; my brother and sister, we all came back home. And here I was raised, in this beautiful land. I love this place. This is where my heart is. Mexico. And it’s so amazing, because, contrary to all medical opinion, I could see. And I could hear, too, even if it was only from one ear. And most incredible of all, I didn’t only talk. I sang.
    It seems I’ve always loved singing and music. I like to think that maybe God sang for me before I came here, to this earth. Maybe that’s why I love music so. It flows inside, and all around me. ..
    We did return to the U.S. I had to go for my missing ear.  And there, too, waited a trial and a fairytale. I had my dream, and I had also been granted the life of someone I loved dearly.
    We came back home, once again. And for some reason, this is where my memories stop being blurry. I finished my elementary school very well. But it was as if I suddenly had woken up from a deep slumber. It suddenly it dawned upon me that I was really different. I realized that my face was different. I had been in such a protected environment, so much care and love… it was such a shock to go into a world that not only didn’t seem to like you, but also mocked you for what you looked like. I shut myself out. I was so angry. At the world. Even at my family, even at my best friend; I felt they had left me alone when I most needed them. I cried so bitterly during that time. I desperately wanted someone to tell me how special I was, and nobody would look at me. I don’t know why I’m actually telling anybody this. I never had. But maybe that just means I’ve healed inside. But there are golden memories, too. My grandparent’s house, and the place where I took music lessons were my getaways. Nothing bad existed there. There were only laughter, happiness and classical music. But the most important thing during that time was that, suddenly, I found Him. In the midst of all that –I know this will probably sound very pathetic- pain, where I thought I had no friends, when I thought nobody cared, I found He did. I felt His love when all I felt was rejection. And his everlasting forgiveness came instead of my shame. I feel so grateful for that time, because it made me stronger. Time passed by, and I changed; of course, singing and making music all the way. It wasn’t easy, but now I’d understood that I would never be alone again. Slowly, I started to get out of the shell of underestimation that I had built around me. I started actually talking with people. I discovered that not all of my peers were cruel, and that most were truly sweet. Then I found my opera. It was really almost something of an accident, because I’d really been looking for something else, and I have to admit it wasn’t love at first hearing, but something about it fascinated me, and still does (I think it’ll always will).
    I had always known I’d wanted to sing, though at six I wanted to be a veterinarian to heal and pray for all the little animals that came to me, and later on I thought that maybe I’d love to travel and be an archeologist. But the truth is, music was always my love. I started my first year of university as a music-voice student. I wanted to be an opera singer with all my heart. I suddenly found myself dreaming with that world of orchestras, singers, astounding theatres, drama.
    Those years seem like a dream already, but it really isn’t that long ago. Time passed by very fast. When I never imagined it would happen, I suddenly knew what it was to say goodbye to people I loved dearly. I never imagined it could hurt like that, but like all wounds, it healed. I know I’ll see them again one day in heaven.
    I still dreamed for someone to come along and love me more than any other person on earth. But something happened. No one came. And I started to get a little bitter, just in that area. No one would ever come, I thought. What am I waiting for? I wondered. I have the most amazing, beautiful, incredible love in God; why do I wish for more? And when apparently someone did come and seemed to like me, for some reason, I just don’t… like him enough…not like that. And I simply shut myself again –in that area-. I have to admit that God and I are still working on that. I think God’s love is way more than enough. I used to think he did, too, but apparently I was a little wrong.
    Something else happened with me. In most of my music classes I had good grades but, for some reason, it seemed that no matter how hard I tried; over and over, I just couldn’t sing like the others. They said my voice was beautiful, but it seemed that I didn’t have enough talent to learn to sing opera. And something else happened. My hearing suddenly started decreasing, and therefore, I started having a lot of trouble to keep up with my classes. It seemed as if all I had been until then had come crumbling down. All I had believed in, all my dreams started shattering. But God gave me His amazing love to see me through. I managed to finish this semester. I might not be returning to my next one in January, because I’m still going to have more surgeries, one for my face, possibly another for my ear. But I did realize something through this year; little by little, I’ve been faced with things I truly feared, but God fought them for me and won. I know that I’ll fulfull the purpose for which I was created. I know that I’ll make it, because He lived the most beautiful love story of all because of us: He gave it all, his most precious gift, just for me, just for you. I’m not afraid anymore. I’m free and I can lift my face, feel the wind on my hair, the sun’s warm light in my skin, I can dance, laugh, and marvel at God’s work of art in every place I look. I see a world and a future full of colors. Why? I don’t understand. But I believe.

    1. Gaurav Mahajan says:

      Hi Mimmi,

      Very beautiful story. really inspiring one. God make you so special, and he make your life so pretty.

      Great Living. . . . .

    2. garry.... says:

      ….i just love this story….i don’t know why but when i was reading the story…there were few tears came in my eyes……it’s just amazing…..at last i would like to say that

      …”yes” u are …8th wonder of the world….my brother…GOD bless u….may u live long

    3. mujahid says:

      It seems a real practical logical gift almighty has bestowed upon u.
      I salute you for the effort n struggle u raised foir life and thats true one who has been taken care by almighty no body dares to say a single unfortune words…wish u good luck n prosperous life.

  10. Noopur Jain says:

    Hello Mr Paulo,
    I am a great reader of your books. I am 11 years old and have read ‘Like The Flowing River’ and ‘ The Alchemist’. Many of my classmates read your books.below iis a story I found simple and beautiful.

    There once lived a wise and wealthy farmer who had three sons; Girma, Demeke and Brehanu.
    One day he thought that after his death his sons might quarrel about the property and decided to divide it. He called his sons and told them about his division . He said the house would go to the person who could fill the room with something brought from the coins he gave to the three sons. The three went to the market. Girma bought straw, Demeke bought sacks of feathers and and upon reaching home they waited for their brother.
    when he came, he had nothing in his hands. Girma & Demeke thought that their brother wasn’t able to find anything to fill the room.
    Girma strew the straw on the floor , the room was still more than half empty.
    “Well done” said the father and Girma smiled.
    After they cleaned up Demeke began to pour out feathers from the sacks.When Demeke had emptied the last sack, the room was still less than half full.
    “Now we shall see what our youngest has to offer.” said the father.
    Brehanu went to the middle of the room and took out a candle from his pocket. Once he lit it, the whole room was filled with a soft light.
    Father, Demeke and Brehanu , all belied that the house should go to Brehanu.

  11. Aidz says:

    Late one evening a poor farmer on his way back from the market found himself without his prayer book. The wheel of his cart had come off right in the middle of the woods and it distressed him that this day should pass without his having said his prayers. So this is the prayer he made: “I have done something very foolish, Lord. I came away from home this morning without my prayer book and my memory is such that I cannot recite a single prayer without it. So this is what I am going to do: I shall recite the alphabet five times very slowly and you, to whom all prayers are known, can put the letters together to form the prayers I can’t remember,” And the Lord said to his angels, “Of all the prayers I have heard today, this one was undoubtedly the best because it came from a heart that was simple and sincere.”

    1. Gaurav Mahajan says:

      superb . . . .
      I will tell this story to my small kid.

  12. amitabh says:

    all stories are beautiful.

  13. daman says:

    nishq i appreciate you…………..
    my story is still to be searcd that would inspire me to a level i would like to share………….its beautiful equally to listen to sm stories rather than narrating…:]

  14. Mazduda says:

    It is true story from the forest Sundarban in Bengal(in India and Bangladesh).

    Sundarban is famous for Royal Bengal tiger.At old times,few hundred years back,hunting tiger was a heroic career.One of the most famous and bravest hunter of that time was Pochabdi who inherited the art from his father and forefathers.His father and forefathers ,however,were all killed by tigers.

    Oneday a friend of Pochapdi asked him,’Friend,your father died by tiger attack and so did your grandfathers.Do you still not fear tigers?How can you still dare to hunt tigers?’.

    Pochabdi asked,’Friend,how did your father die?’

    The friend answered,’Well,my dad went to his bed at night to sleep and the next mornig everyone found out he died in his sleep’.

    Pochabdi then asked,’How did your grandfather die?’

    The friend answered,’Well almost the same.He went to his bed at night to sleep and the next morning everyone found out that he died in his sleep.’

    With a smile Pochabdi asked,’Friend,do you still sleep in your bed?’.

  15. Mazduda says:

    Here is a story I would like to share.Although I am new here and it is a late submission,my apology.

    An old wise religious teacher was walking though a forest with his pupil.As thet were about to cross a river they found a young beautiful girl unable to cross the river.The religion the old man belonged to very strictly forbade touching other women except their wives.The old man thought if he left the young girl there beasts from forests would eat her.So he helped her to cross the river.After crossing the river the old man and his student started to walk alone again.Some moments later the student,with a hidden excitement,asked,’Guru,how could you voilate your religion’s law being a relegious leader yourself?’
    The guru answered,’Son,I have stopped carrying the girl as soon we crossed the river but it is you who is still carrying her in yoiur mind’.

  16. Bhaskar Roy says:

    Once upon a time, in the now , there was a struggling writer. He lived as most of us do with his his demons , his angels , his sorrows and his joys. Somewhere during his journey to find a footing or to be precise to find his own self , he stumbled upon a small but tranquil piece of land . He had passed by it quite often but never really bothered to stop and rest there. But one fine day , hungry and tired …hungry for love and acceptance and tired by his aimless wanderings, he entered the plot of land and rested his weary soul under the shade of the vast banyan tree , the lone tree in the small patch of land.

    He felt better. In fact he had never ever felt so in his life. A cow, with an odd patch of white on its otherwise dull black torso was munching at the green grass nearby and the sky was outcast. The banyan tree, the cow gazing and the grey sky… and the small tranquil piece of land.It was a space within his heart. A place he could go as and when he wanted. His own space, his own land. Where no cannibal can ever get him for his pot, where love and acceptance is for the asking .

    Yes, he would write and the world will listen ..because he had found himself, finally.

  17. L says:

    I found this story, when I was looking for inspirational stories. I really like it. :)

    Good Luck? Bad Luck? Who Knows?

    There is a Chinese story of an old farmer who had an old horse for tilling his fields. One day the horse escaped into the hills and, when all the farmer’s neighbors sympathized with the old man over his bad luck, the farmer replied, ‘Bad luck? Good luck? Who knows?’
    A week later the horse returned with a herd of wild horses from the hills and this time the neighbors congratulated the farmer on his good luck. His reply was, ‘Good luck? Bad luck? Who knows?’
    Then, when the farmer’s son was attempted to tame one of the wild horses, he fell off its back and broke his leg. Everyone thought this very bad luck. Not the farmer, whose only reaction was, ‘Bad luck? Good luck? Who knows?’
    Some weeks later the army marched into the village and conscripted every able-bodied youth they found there. When they saw the farmer’s son with his broken leg they let him off. Now was that good luck? Bad luck? Who knows?

  18. barbara says:

    The Polish White Eagle

    A thousand years ago, or maybe even more, there lived three brothers, Lech, Czech, and Rus. For many years they had been content in their villages, but the families grew larger and they needed more room to live.
    The brothers decided to travel in different directions to search for new homes. Lech, Czech, and Rus traveled with their troops for many days. They rode their horses over mountains and rivers, through forests and wild country. There were no people to be found anywhere, not a town or tiny village. On the crest of a mountain top, they separated, each going in a different direction. Czech went to the left, Rus went to the right and Lech rode straight ahead, down the mountain and across vast plains.

    One day Lech saw a spendid sight. He and his troops had come to a place where a meadow surrounded a small lake. They stopped at the edge of the meadow as a great eagle flew over their heads. It flew around in great swooping circles, then perched on its nest, high on a craggy rock. Lech stared in awe at the beautiful sight. As the eagle spread its wings and soared into the heavens again, a ray of sunshine from the red setting sun fell on the eagle’s wings, so they appeared tipped with gold, the rest of the bird was pure white.

    “Here is where we will stay!” declared Lech. “Here is our new home, and we will call this place GNIEZNO … (the eagle’s nest).

    He and his people built many houses and it became the center of his territory. They called themselves Polonians, which means “People of the Field”. They made a banner with a white eagle on a red field and flew it over the town of Gniezno, which became the first historical capital of Poland.

    And, now you know how Poland began . . .

  19. Öykü Üzülmez says:

    There is a huge fight out of the window. It is clearly a missunderstanding going on but I couldnt find the reason. I guess conductor of the orchestra ran away. Flutes doesn’t know where to begin, niether violins. It is like every piece of instrument start to play their favorite song just at the same time.

    I guess they are tired a bit. Just the drums keep going now.

    It is like the most difficult thing for a rain to fall. However I believe that they have some unique melody which no one easily understand. Sometimes me also hear it as a fight. When I truly give my self to that melody and just listen, I become some of the wind instruments.

    It is even harder to be patient while listening the rain, it reminds me jazz. At your first time, you find it strange, wierd. Jazz has no rules, like rain. A happy melody can suddenly make you can feel sad, like rain.
    Now I’m grateful to my patient company, rain. And slide my soul through dreams now…

  20. barbara says:

    Mr.Coelho, I came across this story and really liked it, maybe you already know it, but just in case I post it here anyway.

    Your Burden

    The young man was at the end of his rope. Seeing no way out, he dropped to his knees in prayer. “Lord, I can’t go on,” he said. “I have too heavy a cross to bear.” The Lord replied, “My son, if you can’t bear it’s weight, just place your cross inside this room. Then open another door and pick any cross you wish.” The man was filled with relief. “Thank you, Lord,” he sighed, and did as he was told. As he looked around the room he saw many different crosses; some so large the tops were not visible. Then he spotted a tiny cross leaning against a far wall. “I’d like that one, Lord,” he whispered. And the Lord replied, “My son, that’s the cross you brought in.”

  21. barbara says:

    An old Cherokee told his grandson, “My son, there is a battle between two wolves inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, jealousy, greed, resentment, inferiority, lies & ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy, & truth.” The boy thought about it, and asked, “Grandfather, which wolf wins?” The old man quietly replied, “The one you feed.”

    by Kathy Ross Warren

  22. barbara says:

    Good morning Mr.Coelho. Here I am once again and once again I will bore you with the story by Wislawa:)

    PARABLE

    Some fishermen pulled a bottle from the deep. It held a piece of paper, with those words:”Somebody save me! I’m here.The ocean cast me on this desert island. I am standing on the shore waiting for help. Hurry! I’m here!”
    “There’s no date. I bet it’s already too late anyway. It could have been floating for years,” the first fisherman said.
    “And he doesn’t say where. It’s not even clear which ocean,” the second fisherman said.
    “It’s not too late, or too far. The island Here is everywhere,” the third fisherman said.
    They all felt awkward. No one spoke. That’s how it goes with universal truths.

    With love,
    Barbara

  23. Ita says:

    That is a good story and well dne

  24. hilda islas says:

    ya no escribes, ya no llamas.. tu sonrrisa se ha desgastado, tu nobleza se esfumo y ahora no se donde encontrarte, te busco en todas la miradas y no hay mas que un millon de escenarios, te busco en fotos olvidadas pero tambien te has marchado, escombro en mis recuerdos, te busco hasta en mi almohada, te he perdido el rastro y no sabes cuanto te extraño.. necesito encontrarte aunque me estoy canzando de buscarte, no se porque has desaparecido, no se porque me has olvidado…
    me he perdido noches enteras buscandote entre las estrellas, he dormido como nunca, he suplicado tu regreso, me esta consumiendo tu ausencia y las palabras pierden su sentido, quiero que regreses, me urge que llames, que me mires fijamente y me digas que todo estara bien, que ahora estas conmigo, que no me dejaras, que me acompañaras a donde vaya aunque tengas que sacrificar tu alma, que no moriras, que la eternidad esta contigo… necesito una palabra, un simple suspiro, regresa al cosmos, entregate ala luna, huye del viento, camina con el fuego, liberate en el tiempo y vuelvete su enemigo, tan solo recuerda que a pesar de todo, aun te necesito….
    esperaria si fuera necesario a que los mares cambiaran su curso, a que el viento dejara de soplar e incluso a que el tiempo se detuviera, de todo eso seria capaz por volver a tocar tu rostro, por deleitarme con el canto de tu voz, por soltarme entre tus brazos y repetirte que te amo pero se que ahora que estas en el cielo mis esfuerzos podrían ser en vano.

  25. Chanel says:

    I find new meanings in my life in your books, I dream one day to become able to create a perfect life for my daugther and my little family
    until then I find inspirations from your books
    A beautiful story is a book that I have in my mind already, a love story beetwen two people of two different cultures, it will include a long journey as the best of the love stories of course! I would love to read something about Africa and it’s journey to Barsil, it will be a great eopea as Roots, I don’t know if you have read it

    Thank you!

  26. Silayio says:

    I read an anecdote in John Amodeo’s The Authentic Heart; An eightfold path to midlife love……it reads

    …There’s an old Sufi tale of Nasruddin, the wise fool, sipping tea in a cafe with a friend. Their conversation turned to love.
    “How come you never got married, Nasruddin?” asked his friend.
    “Well” replied Nasruddin, “to tell you the truth,I spent my youth looking for the perfect woman. In Cairo, I met a beautiful and intelligent woman, with eyes like dark olives, but she was unkind. Then in Baghdad, I met a woman who was a wonderful and generous soul, but we had no interests in common. One woman after another would seem just right, but there would always be something missing. Then one day I met her. She was beautiful, intelligent, generous and kind. We had everything in common. In fact, she was perfect”
    “Well” said Nasrudin’s friend, “What happened? why didn’t you marry her?”
    Nasruddin sipped his tea reflectively. “Well,” he replied,”It’s a sad thing. Seems like she was looking for the perfect man.”

  27. Szakítás says:

    Here we go:

    An old man aged over 80 years old. He was planting a durian tree when he was observed by a neighbor. (A durian is a thorny fruit with a very pungent smell. It is known as the King of Fruits and is very popular in South East Asia)

    The neighbor asked the old man “Do you expect to eat durian from that tree?” The durian tree will take about 8 to 10 years to bear fruit.

    The old man rested smilingly on his spade. He said “No, at my age I know I won’t. All my life I have been enjoying durians but never from a tree I have planted before. I wouldn’t have had durians if other men have not done have not done what I am doing now. I am just trying to pay the other men who planted durians for me.” No wonder he is so happy.

    We should be GIVERS first and GETTERS second in everything we do. We will not only get what we want but will actually be really happy in the end. Because we need to sow first before we can reap.

    This story really warmed my heart! :)

  28. Szakítás says:

    Oh guys! I love this post! I wish I had a beautiful story to share over here… I go get that wonderful book I read a fortnight ago there was an old man telling an inspiring story. I get back with that one!

  29. abdi says:

    mr paulo i have read some pages of the alchemist, its truely inspiring fable story to keep your head up when you feel 2 feet under, to follow your heart..hopefully i will finish reading it…

    by the way one thing i want to share with you guys is that taking risk is good, i learned from my own experience which i took a risk to get me something i needed at the time.. it worked for me.. if you want to something in life and the things requires you to take a risk don’t hesitate… everything is in gods hand not human being….

  30. macajori says:

    WOW! THANK YOU. This got me hyped up and motivated, I’m currently a tea maker, I make green tea, red tea and many other in China, I like poems to and always wanted to write tem but never quit managed to find the inspiration.. ceratnly now I know where I will get it!I’m done with tea!

  31. Dale Garcia says:

    This story was sent to me by my cousin and I am forwarding to all of your readers in the hope that it inspires some as it did me. In a time of instant gratification and fleeting interests, I found this story of devotion and commitment to be truly a blessing and testament to KJV Matthew 6:21,” For where your treasure is,there will your heart be also.”

    “If I can put one touch of a rosy sunset into your life, I shall feel that I have worked with GOD” G.K Chesterton

  32. ziri says:

    this is a story,

    is about my grandfather, my grandfather is a amzaigh (freeman) a berber from morocco.
    Who lived in the moutains away from the city in that time.
    People in the village told me that my grandfather was a good man in his hart but also rebel. That’s why peopel loved him and talked about him. Becaus he was so good my grandmother told my that god gave him presents. In began in a night that in our village my grandfather heard a nois, a footstept like a person was in his house or land. and he opend the door there was something the say who gave him gold or money in his hand and left. Till that day a man or something come every day in the night to give him something. My grandfather became wealthy and fortunit. Till one day a man told him why he is so lucky in live . Than my granfather told him, i will tell you something and promise me you dont tell this to anyone else. ANd so he told him that in one night a something came and gave him things. And from that moment he came every night. THe man looked at him and promised he wil never tell this secret to someone else. Since that day he told his secret, the men never came again in the night. he was gone.

    My grandmother and my mother tell my that you dont have to tell everything to people. Some think must stay a secret,something that is special must be kept special in your hart. If i have a good dream or a bad the tell me that i much not tell it to people but keep it in my hart.

    greeting ziri,
    i love to read you stories, thanks

    my english is not very good and i dont know why i tell this to you, i dont tell thi story to others butt i just did.

    1. ishita says:

      thnx! ive also realised tht once u share something with someone and they do not react in the way u would like them to, u feel like its lost its meaning & its importance reduces in ur heart n feel like uve been stripped of something…

    2. nishq says:

      wonderful story ziri………… n i think ur english is just gr8…………

      languages are spoken to understand, or be understood….. i understand u ziri, every single word in ur story…………..

      love…