Sequel to She.

Just woken up from a long afternoon slumber, so long that she couldn't recall when it had actually begun, she loitered around the house in tiny steps, tip toes rather. Pretending to be careful enough not to disturb anyone else, but there wasn't anyone anyway. Her hair, her hair was a mess, it finished just above her shoulders, like ending abruptly and the circles around her eyes were smudged with faint dashes of kohl. She must have cried in her sleep or something. Wondering if she looked like a runaway drug addict, she looked into herself in the mirror. But began looking for wrinkles thereafter, had a few new ones appeared recently? She couldn't remember. And resumed walking around, shutting the windows as it was evening already. And as it was summer, as is usual with summer evenings there was a huge dust storm gathering itself just outside her window. Attracted to storms as her usual person, she couldn't get away from the window for sometime, staring at flights and flights of dry dead leaves being carried away by the wind, lost in whirls of dust. That wind, looked like some kind of emancipator. She stood by the window letting cold gusts of it touch her face, the day as is usual with midsummer days had been very breathlessly humid, and she had literally tricked herself to fall sleep earlier after turning sides an uncountable number of times.

After standing there till her heart's fill, she moved away from the window. Looked at her reflection in the floor, the tiles were shiny and refused to give her a distinct picture of what she looked like in that long black T shirt that reached somewhere the middle of her thighs, leaving the rest of her legs uncovered, naked. Again, she lounged on the couch and threw those legs on the table adjacent, like they weren't even hers. Like they weren't even hers. And began ransacking the place for the remote, there must be something going on on TV! Could you tell she was twenty-four? Or thirty-six? Or Forty-two?

Find the prequel here.