ŷ������

“And this subconscious gesture of hers makes Meera Gaumont squint.

“Sweetie, you are doing it again,�� Meera says. “Is there anything on your face?”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“Men like real-world games once they learn a trick or two.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“... don’t judge something seeing only a part of it. And don’t let others force you to see all of it.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Meera found her watching the morning sky standing stripped on the roof.

“I’m your mother. Mo-ther,�� Meera said, approaching her adopted teen daughter, repeating ‘Mother�� several times. “And you cannot be naked, sweetie,�� she added, covering Kusha with her wide, red shawl—spiral depictions of snails in golden stitches all over it. It was warm; at least, as warm as Meera’s voice that sounded as if it were water pouring through rocks in a desert.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Kusha didn’t ask, “What’s wrong with looking too beautiful?�� She knew what Meera would say: “Beat me on the sand, and I’ll let you run as wild and beautiful as you want, sweetie.��”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Perhaps a bird or the wind carried the seed and Meera didn’t notice it yet. Otherwise, it would be groomed out for daring to grow its head high in such a neat lawn.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Meera heals her colossal plants and flowers with her strong prana, her core energy. Healing isn’t a feat a Low Grade can do.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Meera ordered Taha to train for two hours. It still isn’t two hours. Kusha wonders if she’s being a bad sister.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“So, the ‘you should be prepared for anything�� part of Meera’s speech is ignorable? Kusha thinks. She never speaks her thoughts, or maybe she speaks only 1% of her thoughts, but it’s not the reason she halts now. Kusha widens her eyes. That ‘it’ll never come again�� felt so ominous, so striking! If words were measured like temperature, they’d feel as cold as a planet with no sun and as dark as the ground of the Old City.”
― Misba, The High Auction

““I’ll let you not wear a vest when you can walk without tearing your blouse, sweetie.�� ”
― Misba, The High Auction

“KNEES FOLDED, SPREAD FAR APART from each other, parallel to the floor—like those of a monk sitting in a lotus pose and peacefully meditating. Except, she’s not meditating; she’s dancing, and she’s not at peace. Sweat forming, flowing down her neck and cleavage, dampening her vest. Her fingers gripping her waist. Only her toes touch the ground to kick off and defeat gravity for one moment, until she drops back to the floor on just her toes, making it a flawless leaping-footwork of Bharatanatyam—a traditional dance.

Well, nearly flawless.

Soon, her one hand releases her waist in the middle of the dance, breaking the perfection of the footwork. She brushes nothing in particular from her face as if she’s pushing away her blue strands of hair, but she is not. Her hair is tied into a ponytail reaching her waist. No loose strands of hair are annoying her that she’d need to touch her face. At least, not during a dance.”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“Meera’s journey of love is complete. From a farmer expecting rain, she became a cloud that rains.

This magic happens when you stop expecting. She was at least expecting water from the sky (Krishna). You are expecting it from other pots.”
― Shunya