She’s a stranger to herself, blinded by the diffidence and lost in demureness. But not for long when she starts looking in the mirror, she is enlightened by the treasure in her body. Oh! the curves and edges. Her eyes point at the glazing reflection, contemplating the whole milky way of softness and arduity. Time freezes from the moment she starts familiarising herself with the figure in the mirror. Every inch of her soul, every ounce of her breath, she must be a sort of dreamer. Yet it’s not an illusion, her beauty is factual. Her heartbeat ticks past the hours until the wind brings back the presence.