Sweat trickled down her skin, embracing the hot winds with a cold sigh. She managed to rearrange her torn saree to present her best self.
She stretched her hands and straightened her back, a faint chuckle escaping her lips, louder than the rumble in her stomach.
She wished to lie down, to let her tired body find some escape, but work did not permit it. “At least not my back… maybe my palm could touch the ground for some support,” she thought. But suddenly she remembered, she couldn’t meet the dust.
She surrendered her tiredness to wishful thinking, to hope, and to dreams of a brighter future.
She pressed hard, with fading strength, guiding the silk thread through the fabric. Every pass of the needle felt like a small milestone achieved.
She sewed her strength, her hope, her sacrifice, her very exhaustion, into the bedsheet she was creating.
Carefully, with misty eyes, she folded it, ready to be taken to the market.
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aabhaghuli.com 
Amazing way to present an irony here !
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I hope to see the second part to it, for the hardships of selling the product in the market, and then probably the 3rd one too, expressing the joy of earning even a penny. You have an art of engaging people with emotions, and I hope that you keep writing such inspiring blogs forever. God bless you always..
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