Her mother’s chronic illness turned the tide of her life. Sometimes her mother gazed blankly at the faraway distant clouds and tears rolled down her pallid cadaverous cheeks. Venu fought back her tears that welled up in her colossal luminous eyes.
For a girl in her adolescence, it could be an arduous task to raise a toddler but she put a brave face and carried the job to the manner born.
Her toddler brother romped about the house and besmirch washed dishes and clothes. When she unearthed them, adorned with blotches of mud, it did faze her but soon she cooled off and took it lying down. It didn’t taint her heart with bitterness. Venu nobbled him with her handcrafted dolls of rags, ruffled his hair and got on with her job, her face clad in a smile.
There was little room for thinking about herself and the moments of joy were thin on the ground. A life of toil and travail could be enough to obliterate any dream. But her heart was the house of hopes and passion galore. After pulling all her weight when she went to hit the hay, she took her books out from her box and climb aboard the wispy clouds; where she found her fortune left by her mother, her white pearls. Venu never gave up on her dreams.
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