In the end she started to sob and i felt bad for her. To cheer her up i asked if she wanted to go to the beach. She hesitantly agreed and sat on the bike with me. she was in a salwar and kameez while i was just back from the gym in tracks and t-shirt. We talked about random things before which i applied sudden brake due to a traffic signal. Her big juicy ripe boobs crushed on ma wet chest leaving an outline on her dress. It was in that moment when i started feeling sexually attracted to her.Without anymore events we reached the colony entrance road and i dropped her so that no one would notice us entering to gather. She came and gave me a tight hug saying she had a change of air after long time. i just wanted the hug to last forever.We exchanged nos and left home.As soon as i reached home she sent me a hi in whatsapp n we chatted the whole night. Next day i bunked college and went to the mall and movie with her. I tried a lot to cheer her up but the divorce was still running in the. But something separates them. What is this thing that separates them? Where does each woman’s morality – or lack thereof – originate? Where does it come from, this sense of right and wrong? The personality? Her upbringing? A soul? Is this the very essence which seeped out of David James Barrow’s shell when he died? His soul? Is it a soul that gives Catriona Hamsun her identity? Or is it, perhaps, memory? Memory and experience? With the loss of her memory, Catriona Hamsun seemed to lose whole chunks of identity – name, nationality, address, motive. What if she had lost even more – language, the ability to reason and plan ahead, memories of the food she’s tasted, sounds she’s heard, textures she’s felt, sights she’s seen, fragrances she’s smelled and all those other things she has presumably learned since childhood? If Catriona Hamsun lost enough of these memories would she then cease to exist as a person? Would she be little more than an empty carcass like poor David lying in the dust.
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