The snow-clad streets with men vocalizing carols filled the air, fresh bakes lifted the atmosphere with pleasures unforgettable, the bells of the church heard load as men and women walked with high spirited love, kids for candies, men for love, wishing to taste what they desire.

The care of men overpowering the cold, the warmth of one's heart, fighting the snow.

London, the place where Romanticism originated, a place best of all the towns, the splendid architecture with the cupids, evolving into a perfect mix for winter, yet in a cottage there lived an old soul, despising the day, with withering youth, limping legs, the king of words, Prince.

PRINCE'S POV

The pitch dusky sky doesn't it teach us all, things we let slip, that love is grey, there shall be flickers of light yet the reality is the black eerie sky.

She came like a wind, created havoc, and left me as a wandering nonentity, I can't recall as she isn't by me, can't open my eyes for she disappears, can't end it without crying yet I never stop reciting the story of my heart, the story of us.

'What you want to hear my story', I remarked at the twinkling star, which just grew fainter, I smirked and continued trying my best to relive those days where I was shuddering under her eyes.

'The bouncy bullock cart, the wandering naked boys, the freshly cooked rice, the cow dung, the anxious looks, the disgusted ones were how I would have remembered India, hadn't I met her.

I was a columnist, happened to visit the country to let the world know of the people's pleas but my hearts glee took over me, her witty nature couldn't do any help to my beating heart, her helping heart fueled my desire.

I had forever been hardening myself, locking myself and all my insecurities, never giving a chance for anyone to call me weak since the day I lost my parents. She had that key and the patience to make me a human.

It was one fine day when her black big beautiful eyes met mine, though very cheesy and dramatic I felt something rare, that look, filled with warmth and care that had never been showered apon me, a part of me believed that look was only meant for me.

She came from an aristocratic Indian family where loving out of the family was the biggest crime one could commit, let alone loving out of the country, and that too a brit, she would have been regarded as a traitor.

She was the most benevolent, she showed me around her village, we slowly became close and to say I was attracted would be the very least, I sometimes forgot to talk, sometimes to stop as we dwelled loving, slowly becoming one, until I realised it was all a illusion, I muttered more to myself and drowned the rest of the wine.

'Ting', the unusual bell pulled me out of my oblivion, I opened the door to meet a woman, shivering, her eyes shining under the moonlight, the stars twinkle lost itself in comparison to those eyes, the very same big black ones.