As received on WhatsApp

As received on WhatsApp! 😃 A wealthy Arab man is having lunch at Dubai’s most luxurious restaurant when a ragged-looking homeless man walks in and quietly sits down at the seat next to him. The Arab gets irritated. Security starts moving toward the man. But before they can reach him, the old man calmly says, “Sir, I have something you’d want to buy.” The Arab laughs. “You? You’ll sell me something?” The man pulls out an old lamp. “One million dollars.” The whole table bursts into laughter. Leaning back, the Arab says, “Old man, this lamp isn’t even worth ten dirhams.” Without saying a word, the homeless man flips the lamp open. Instantly, a cloud of smoke rises from the lamp and a genie appears. The restaurant goes silent. Forks freeze mid-air. Phones come out. Waiters stop in their tracks. The genie bows and asks, “What is your wish, master?” The old man replies casually, “One strong cup of tea.” The genie snaps his fingers once. A glass of steaming tea with sugar cubes and a spoon appears on a silver tray. Silence falls. The Arab’s face changes instantly. Within minutes, lawyers are called, papers are signed, and a cheque for one million dollars is written. The old man smiles. “Cash it first.” So they go to the bank together. The cheque clears. Deal done. The Arab rushes back to his palace, grinning from ear to ear, heart pounding. He locks himself in his private chamber, places the lamp on the table, and clicks it open. The genie appears again. “What is your wish, master?” The Arab grins greedily. “I want my one million dollars back, a 300-foot super yacht, a private jet, ten Rolls-Royces.” The genie looks uncomfortable. Then says softly, “Sir, I can only serve tea and coffee.” “Would you like sugar with that...?” For 12 years, that genie has been riding on India’s back, and apart from serving tea, he doesn’t know how to do anything else... And I’m sure you’ve recognized which genie that is

My wife of 5 years cheated on me

My wife of 5 years cheated on me with two of her co worker while we work at the same job. I knew something was not right at home but she denied the affair hence I tapped her phone conversation witht them and reported with evidence to the job that got one of them been a supervisor fired for inappropriate behavior. My world came crumbling, wife finally acceot the affair, apologized and threatened to commit suicide if the marriage end, i forgave her ( the greatest mistake i ever made ) , she pretended to end the affair which i knew she didnt. Act nice and remorse but end up been the worst i ever seen after we had our second child. We had two more children over the next 7 years but the damage was beyond repair as this was the worst years of my life. I lost my identity, drive, confidence and self worth. She emasculated me, gaslight and subject me to untold humiliation with friends and families while i kept and carried the burden of her affairs for years. After 7 years, i decided to finally confesss to my family and friends about the situatiion which led to our seperation few weeks ago and will be filling for divorce to end this misery once and for all. Wish i had not kept her secret, open up , seek for help, and divorced her when it happened but i subjected myself to 7 years of miserable , depressed and suicidal life. I am trying to rebuild my life all over again but the pain seem very fresh and even more hurting now than it was 7 yesrs ago.

My husband loves me

My husband loves me a lot it's been 15 years since we have been together (relation plus marriage) Last month we had a baby boy! The problem is that I caught him talking to so many Asian women just for fun on dating apps like Thai-friendly, Pina Love etc. It was not love love-dove convo. When I confronted him he admitted his mistake but he said it was just for fun. Conversations with the girls were not continuous on and off. I was angry he apologised and gave me so much assurance it won't be happening again. Then today after some days I saw he again searched Thaifriendly on Google. Now what should I do? I'm so depressed.

THE FAITH OF THE SPARROW

THE FAITH OF THE SPARROW The battlefield of Kurukshetra was being prepared to facilitate the movement of mammoth armies with large cavelries. They used elephants to uproot trees and clear the ground. On one such tree lived a sparrow, a mother of four young ones. As tree was being knocked down, her nest landed on the ground alongwith her offspring -too young to fly- miraculously unharmed. The vulnerable and frightened sparrow looked around for help. Just then she saw Krishna scanning the field with Arjuna. They were there to physically examine the battleground and devise a winning strategy before the onset of the war. She flapped her tiny wings with all her might to reach Krishna's chariot. "Please save my children, O Krishna, " the sparrow pleaded."They will be crushed tomorrow when this battle starts. " I hear you," said He, the omnicient one, but I can't interfere with the law of nature." "All I know is that you are my saviour, O Lord. I rest my children's fate in your hands. You can kill them or you can save them, it's upto you now" "The wheel of Time moves indiscriminately, " Krishna spoke like an ordinary man implying that there wasn't anything he could do about it. "I don't know your philosophy," the sparrow said with faith and reverence. "You are the wheel of time. That's all I know. I surrender to thee." "Stock food for three weeks in your nest then." Unaware of the on going coversation, Arjuna was trying to shoo away the sparrow when Krishna smiled at the bird. She fluttered her wings a few minutes in obeisance and flew back to her nest. Two days later, just before the boom of conchs announced the commencement of the battle, Krishna asked Arjuna for his bow and arrow. Arjuna was startled because Krishna vowed to not lift any weapon in the war. Besides, Arjuna believed that he was the best archer out there. "Order me, Lord," he said with conviction, nothing impenetrable for my arrows." Quietly taking the bow from Arjuna, Krishna took aim at an elephant. But, instead of bringing the animal down, the arrow hit the bell around its neck and sparks flew. Arjuna couldn't contain his chuckle seeing that Krishna missed an easy mark. "Should I?" He offered. Again ignoring his reaction, Krishna gave him back the bow and said that no further action was necessary. "But why did you shoot the elephant Keshav? Arjun asked. "Because this elephant that had knocked down the tree sheltering that sparrow's nest." "Which sparrow?" Arjun exclaimed. "Plus, the elephant is unhurt and alive. Only the bell is gone!" Dismissing Arjuna's questions, Krishna instructed him to blow his conch. The war began, numerous lives were lost over the next eighteen days. The Pandavas won in the end. Once again, Krishna took Arjuna with him to navigate through the ruddy field. Many corpses still lay there awaiting their funeral. The battleground was littered with severed limbs and heads, lifeless steeds and elephants. Krishna stopped a certain spot and looked down thoughtfully at an elephant-bell. "Arjuna," he said, "will you lift this bell for me and put it aside?" The instruction , though simple, made little sense to Arjuna. Afterall, in the vast field where plenty of other things needed clearing , why would Krishna ask him to move an insignificant piece of metal out of the way? He looked at him questioningly. "Yes, this bell," Krishna reiterated. "It's the same bell that had come off the elephant's neck I had shot at." Arjuna bent down to lift the heavy bell without another question. As soon as he lifted it though, his world changed, for ever. One, two, three, four and five. Four young birds flew out one after another followed by a sparrow. The mother bird swirled in circle around Krishna, circumambulating him in great joy. The one bell cleaved eighteen days ago had protected the entire family. "Forgive me O Krishna", said Arjuna, "Seeing you in human body and behaving like ordinary mortals, I had forgotten who you really are." *STAY INSIDE YOUR BELL TILL IT LIFTS

A donkey went around telling everyone: **"The grass is blue!"

A donkey went around telling everyone: **"The grass is blue!"** A tiger disagreed and said firmly: "No, the grass is green." The donkey didn't argue further — he went straight to the lion, the king of the jungle, and complained: "Your Majesty, the tiger has been rude and disrespectful to me. He contradicted me!" The lion held court. After hearing both sides, he sentenced the **tiger to three days in jail**. The tiger was stunned. Before being taken away, he asked the lion: "Your Majesty, why am I being punished? The grass *is* green. I was stating a fact." The lion replied: > *"I know the grass is green. That is not why you are punished. You are punished because a brave and intelligent creature like you wasted his energy arguing with a donkey — and worse, allowed it to disturb your peace. The donkey will always believe the grass is blue. That will never change. Your mistake was thinking the argument was worth having."* --- **The lesson:** Not every argument deserves your engagement. When someone is committed to their delusion, arguing doesn't correct them — it only costs *you* your dignity and peace. Choosing your battles wisely is itself a form of intelligence.

Why He Was Murdered

Why He Was Murdered I wish I'd been there earlier. It might have made all the difference. Maybe if I had arrived ten minutes sooner, Daniel Mercer would still be alive. Maybe I would have interrupted the argument. Maybe I would have seen the killer's face. Maybe I would have understood what was happening before blood stained the floorboards of his office. But I wasn't there. And because I wasn't, all I can tell you is why he was murdered. Not who murdered him. Not how. Why. The distinction matters. Because Daniel Mercer did not die because someone hated him. He died because he discovered something that should have remained hidden. Or at least that was what certain people believed. The story begins three months before his death. I first met Daniel in the archives of the city museum. I was a journalist then, thirty-four years old, working for a struggling newspaper that survived mostly because people still enjoyed reading scandals over breakfast. Daniel was not scandalous. At first glance, he was painfully ordinary. Forty-eight years old. Thin. Glasses. A habit of tapping his fingers when he was thinking. He was a historian specializing in local records. The sort of person most people ignored. The sort of person who preferred forgotten documents to living conversation. I had been assigned a dull feature article about historical preservation funding. Daniel happened to be one of the experts I interviewed. The meeting should have lasted twenty minutes. Instead, we spoke for two hours. Not because he was charming. Because he was curious. There is a difference. Charming people make you interested in them. Curious people become interested in you. By the end of our conversation, he knew more about my career than I knew about his. As I prepared to leave, he said something strange. "Most people think history is about the past." I shrugged. "Isn't it?" "No." He smiled. "History is about power." At the time, I thought it was merely an academic observation. Later, I realized it was a warning. Two weeks afterward, Daniel called me. His voice sounded excited. And frightened. "I found something." "What?" "I can't explain over the phone." "Then explain badly." "No." A pause. "You need to see it." The next day I met him in the museum archives. He led me through rows of shelves packed with dusty records. Finally, he stopped beside a table covered in documents. "Look." I examined the papers. Property records. Financial reports. Legal agreements. Nothing unusual. At least not to me. Daniel pointed toward a specific signature. "Read the name." I did. Then frowned. The name belonged to a wealthy businessman named Victor Hale. Everyone in the city knew him. He owned construction companies, hotels, and half a dozen charities. He was respected. Influential. Almost untouchable. "What about him?" I asked. Daniel handed me another document. Then another. And another. Slowly, a pattern emerged. The records connected Victor Hale's family to a series of suspicious land acquisitions dating back decades. Entire neighborhoods had been purchased for absurdly low prices. Families displaced. Ownership transferred through shell companies. The transactions were technically legal. Yet something felt wrong. Very wrong. Daniel leaned closer. "This is only the beginning." "What do you mean?" He opened a folder. Inside were photographs. Letters. Bank statements. Evidence. Enough evidence to suggest a corruption scheme spanning nearly forty years. I stared at him. "Have you shown this to anyone?" "No." "Why not?" "Because I wanted to be certain." "And are you?" He nodded. "Absolutely." The certainty in his voice unsettled me. "Daniel, if this is real—" "It is." "Then this is enormous." "I know." Neither of us spoke for several seconds. Finally I asked the obvious question. "What are you going to do?" His answer changed everything. "Expose it." I remember feeling nervous immediately. Not because exposing corruption was wrong. Because powerful people rarely appreciate transparency. Daniel noticed my concern. "They can't bury this." "They might try." He smiled. "I've spent twenty years digging through records. Do you know what I've learned?" "What?" "The truth survives longer than lies." I wanted to believe him. I really did. But history suggested otherwise. Over the next month we worked together. Daniel continued investigating. I quietly verified information. The deeper we dug, the darker the story became. The corruption wasn't limited to land deals. Politicians were involved. Business leaders. Lawyers. Officials. An entire network benefiting from decades of deception. Each discovery increased the risk. And Daniel knew it. One evening I found him alone in the archives. The building had nearly emptied. Rain hammered against the windows. "You should be careful," I said. He looked up. "I am." "No, you're not." A smile appeared. "You're worried." "Someone should be." He studied me for a moment. Then sighed. "You're probably right." The admission surprised me. Until then, he had seemed fearless. "What changed?" Daniel looked toward the rain. "I received a message." "What kind of message?" "A warning." Cold unease settled in my stomach. "From who?" "I don't know." "What did it say?" He reached into a drawer and handed me a note. The message contained only five words. Stop digging. Last chance. Nothing else. No signature. No explanation. Yet somehow the simplicity felt threatening. "Did you tell the police?" Daniel laughed softly. "And say what? Someone sent me a note?" "Still." He shook his head. "They want me scared." "Are you?" His fingers tapped the desk. A familiar habit. "Maybe a little." That was the first time I genuinely feared for him. The second came two weeks later. Someone broke into his apartment. Nothing valuable was stolen. No electronics. No jewelry. Nothing. The intruder had searched only one thing. His files. Fortunately, Daniel kept copies elsewhere. The break-in failed. But the message was clear. Someone knew. Someone was watching. Someone wanted the investigation to stop. Most people would have quit. Daniel became more determined. Looking back, that determination may have killed him. Or perhaps it simply accelerated the inevitable. The final week began quietly. Too quietly. Daniel seemed almost relieved. The threats stopped. No suspicious calls. No warnings. No break-ins. Nothing. I should have recognized the danger. Predators become silent before they strike. Three days before his death, Daniel invited me to dinner. We met at a small restaurant near the river. He seemed happier than I had seen him in months. "I finished it," he said. "Finished what?" "The report." My chest tightened. "Everything?" "Everything." "Then what happens now?" He smiled. "Now the truth becomes public." I remember studying his face. Trying to understand why he seemed so calm. Maybe because he believed the hard part was over. Maybe because he thought evidence would protect him. Maybe because brave people sometimes mistake courage for invulnerability. As we left the restaurant, he stopped beside the river. The city lights reflected across the water. For a moment neither of us spoke. Then he said something I'll never forget. "If anything happens to me—" "Don't." "What?" "Don't say things like that." He laughed. "You sound superstitious." "I sound practical." The smile faded slightly. Then he nodded. "Fair enough." That was the last complete conversation we ever had. Two days later he called me. His voice sounded different. Urgent. "I found one final piece." "What piece?" "The most important one." "What is it?" "I'll show you tonight." "What time?" "Eight." "I'll be there." "Good." Then he hung up. At 7:40 p.m., traffic trapped me on the highway. An accident had closed multiple lanes. Cars barely moved. I called Daniel. No answer. I texted him. No response. Eventually I reached his office building. The clock read 8:17. Seventeen minutes late. I still remember the silence. The front door stood slightly open. Lights remained on inside. Nothing seemed unusual. Yet something felt wrong. Very wrong. I entered. "Daniel?" No answer. I walked toward his office. My footsteps echoed through empty hallways. "Daniel?" Still nothing. Then I reached the doorway. And saw him. The police later described the scene in clinical terms. I won't. Clinical language creates distance. The reality was simpler. A man was dead. A good man. A man who believed truth mattered. For several seconds I couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. The world narrowed to a single impossible fact. Daniel Mercer was gone. The investigation began immediately. Detectives searched for suspects. Journalists chased rumors. Officials made statements. Everyone wanted answers. Who killed him? How? The questions dominated every conversation. Yet I found myself obsessed with a different question. Why now? The answer arrived unexpectedly. While reviewing Daniel's materials, I discovered a sealed envelope addressed to me. Inside was a letter. And a flash drive. The letter contained only one sentence. If you're reading this, they were afraid of what comes next. My hands trembled. I inserted the flash drive into my computer. Thousands of files appeared. Documents. Recordings. Financial records. Evidence. More evidence than I thought possible. Then I found the final discovery Daniel had mentioned. The most important piece. It wasn't another land deal. Or another financial crime. It was proof that several supposedly independent institutions had secretly coordinated for decades. Businesses. Political organizations. Charitable foundations. Public agencies. The corruption wasn't isolated. It was systemic. The people involved weren't protecting money. They were protecting influence. Control. Reputation. Power itself. Suddenly everything made sense. The threats. The break-in. The surveillance. The murder. Daniel hadn't stumbled across a crime. He had uncovered a structure. An entire machine built on secrecy. And machines defend themselves. The following weeks became chaos. Once the evidence was released, investigations spread nationwide. Resignations followed. Arrests followed. Scandals erupted. Careers ended. Fortunes collapsed. People demanded justice. For a while, it felt as though Daniel had won. Then reality intervened. The truth emerged. But imperfectly. Some guilty individuals escaped consequences. Some evidence disappeared. Some stories were rewritten. Power rarely surrenders completely. Even so, change happened. Not enough. But something. Years have passed since then. The murder remains officially unsolved. There are theories. Suspects. Speculation. But no certainty. Perhaps there never will be. People occasionally ask whether I want to know who killed Daniel Mercer. The honest answer surprises them. Of course I want to know. But not for the reason they expect. Knowing who committed the act would solve a mystery. Knowing why explains the tragedy. Because Daniel wasn't murdered over a personal grudge. Or jealousy. Or rage. He died because he refused to look away. Because he believed ordinary people deserved the truth. Because he understood something many powerful individuals fear. Secrets create power. Truth redistributes it. That's why he was murdered. Not because he was weak. Because he was dangerous. Dangerous to lies. Dangerous to corruption. Dangerous to people who depended upon silence. I still think about that final phone call. That final meeting he promised. That seventeen-minute delay. What would have happened if I had arrived earlier? Would Daniel have survived? Would the killer have fled? Would history have changed? I don't know. Nobody does. Regret is built from questions that have no answers. What I do know is this: Daniel Mercer died trying to reveal the truth. And although his killer stole his future, they failed to destroy what he discovered. The evidence survived. The story survived. His voice survived. Perhaps that's the cruel irony. The people responsible believed murder would bury the truth. Instead, it guaranteed the truth would be remembered. So when people ask me who killed Daniel Mercer, I tell them I can't say. I wasn't there. I arrived too late. All I can tell you is why he was murdered. And sometimes, that's the more important answer.

THE TWIGHTLIGHT ZONE

THE TWIGHTLIGHT ZONE “Darling Priya , my dearest was preoccupied with exacting back to back meetings virtually spanning all most of the far eastern countries for nearly weeks now. I am now desperate to get back home. Virtual conferencing, teleconferences, endless meetings and eating out daily in the high prized hotels where we were put up have taken a strenuous and accentuated toll of my system. I am positively enervated both physically and mentally,” Whatsaaped Rahul to his winsome looking wife at around 11pm , Malaysian time as he sank into the luxuriant couch sipping a glass of white wine. “ Whenever it is possible, I try to hit the gym or swim to ensure the release of positive hormones and attempt to remain in shape and increase my energy ad prana levels was the second text ,” from the pretentious mobile of a loving and a devoted husband to his caring wife . The clock read 12 am now as Rahul had finished the bottle of Rozells Ipoh White Coffee wine as he crashed into the bed. The couple relished chatting or face timing while communicating with each other. This was a long conversation spread over an hour. “ The endorphins you would have released Mr Tharoor would dissipate in this cesspool of white wine ,” Priya Sehgal snapped back to the man who shaped her existence. . Rahul was her lover, husband and the universe of her life. Priya was possessive about her husband but permitted these indiscretions . It was 7.10 pm , and the weather in Gurugram was scorching and roasting as Priya along with domestic help Gita were attempting to feed the apples of her eyes , the twins Chayya and Suraj . Rahul had done the Namkaran and was insistent on the names. “ These names unravel upon us tenebrosity and luminosity in our lives” Rahul was to tell Priya. “ For heaven’s sake stop reading Tharoor and read Chetan Bhagat for a change . I feel his presence in our flat . I actually need a dictionary while hearing you speak and write ,” gushed the lady of the house. Priya looked at the crimson red sun sinking into the jungle of byzantine towers and labyrinths of Gurugram in the twig light zone . Unexpectedly her cell rang , it was 7.15pm in India and 9.45 in Malaysia. “ Love I am boarding GH 197 tomorrow morning from KL and would land at Sahar sometime in the night and tomorrow evening will catch up with you in Delhi in the twilight zone," Rahul hung up as he spoke with his beau Priya. " Hello Hello Rahul... do not forget to buy the latest mobile," were the last words Priya spoke to Rahul. Next evening in the twilight zone she got down from her car, unmindful of honking of others in various cars as she was taking pictures of a plane in the falling sun. It was a brilliant sight to watch. She had a gargantuan collection of the sun in the twilight zone. Suddenly she shrieked and others were stupefied as there were two balls of fire. One, that of the sun and the other of an aircraft which unexpectedly caught fire and was diving at a ferocious speed towards the earth." Oh God, I hope this is not Rahul's plane," she caterwauled. The traffic came to a standstill as everyone on the flyover stopped their vehicles and watched the extraordinary but apathetic and disturbing spectacle. It was bumper to bumper. A squalling Priya snaked her way to the Indira Gandhi International Airport to find the place choc a bloc with security forces., ambulances, media personnel and the fire brigades. There was a virtual belam at the airport. And her worst fears came true. It was indeed Rahul's flight from Mumbai which crashed due to a technical glitch and there were no survivors. Some suspected this to be an act of terror. Priya swooned and collapsed. She was wheeled into an estimable hospital and was in the ICCU as a shattered Priya suffered a heart attack. Priya was fetish about taking pictures from her extortionate mobile. Among her favourites was clicking the crimson sun sinking into the bosom of mother earth. Years back as a youngster she captured this graphic scene from her father's camera in Rourkela. Mr Sehgal her father was then working as a chemical engineer in the Rourkela Steel plant. When the Sehgal family was relocated to Kolkata she ambushed the sinking sun in the Hooghly river with a more developed camera. Rriya followed the quotidian practice at IIM Bangalore where she was pursuing PGDM and specializing in Finance and Marketing. The country had developed and mobile phones had made their ways in Indian households. Meanwhile, this winsome girl was bewitched by the polymath Rahul Srinivasan, who was a senior to her. North met south. Priya fell in love with Rahul, but the sun remained the same as it set in Ulsoor lake of Bangalore. This image found a spesh place in the alcoves of her mind and her mobile. " Common take my picture, not of a setting sun and the twilight zone," Twighlight Zone was also the favorite joint of Rahul, Priya, and their buddies where they chilled out on weekends and jived to some groovy music. Soon it was a champagne time during the big fat Panjabi wedding where booze flowed and Tandoori Chicken and Seekh Kebab's replaced Idli, Vada, Dosa and Sambar much to the chagrin of the conservative Iyer family." But Appa this is customary among Panjabi's," Rahul attempted to assuage his father Venkatesan Srinivasan Iyer. Priya was however welcomed with the traditional Tamil Brahmanical customs in the Iyer household and Rahul and Priya led a blissful married life at Chennai. They were working for Microsoft and led a hectic but a luxuriant life. Priya endeared herself to the Venkatesan family and soon Idli, Vada, Dosa, Uttapam, Sambar, and Chutney replaced Butter Chicken, Tandoori Chicken, Seekh Kebabs. Her palate and platter became " Ghas Phus," as she jocularly reminded her husband. While Priya was attired in azure blue tops and denim jeans and western wear to the office, she accompanied her mother-in-law Savitri to Kapaleeswara Temple in Kanjeewaram Saree every Monday morning for the Rudra Puja in the honor of the presiding deity Lord Shiva. Rahul realised the sacrifices Priya made for him and their bonding strengthened. Thus began their rendezvous to Mahabalipuram, Ooty, Kodaikanal, Bangalore and Coorg in an extended honeymoon. Both Rahul and Priya gorged on Mughalai food which was savored by both Priya and Rahul as they washed it down with jugs of wine and beer. But they strove hard to cut the extra flabby hitting the gym regularly and footslogged on the treadmill, elliptic and pumped in iron. The couple were hardworking and soon were promoted to the Delhi office. Soon the clangour and clamour for a child began from the Sehgal and Iyer families. The couple kept on postponing the addition to the family. But an unabated cacophony continued and finally, Priya was impregnated as the couple caved into parental diktats. There were many vaunted celebrations in the Iyer and Sehgal extended families as the couple was blessed with twins a boy and a girl. While Priya was on maternity leave, Rahul continued working hard and climbed the corporate ladder and was soon to establish his own software company called RP Solutions which had a logo of a sunset. " The sun may set, but we will provide all solutions," was the mission statement of RS Solutions. Meanwhile, Priya was in the ICCU and was being resuscitated by a battery of doctors and paramedics. In the chambers of her febrile mind, her life history played out as she was attempting to regain consciousness. It was evening time in Delhi and nature was entering the twilight zone as the Sehgal's and Iyer's were keeping a vigil. The mothers were chanting Hanuman Chalisa and Sundara Kand as the fathers were pacing the floor frenetically. Priya regained consciousness and in a feeble voice and with moist eyes uttered the name of Rahul. The doctors were relieved and informed the two families, that Priya had regained consciousness. The doctor's pronounced that only one person was permitted to enter the ICCU. Slowly tiptoed a man who was disheveled. Priya could not believe her eyes as she saw Rahul and looked at the clock. It was around 6.30 pm, dusk time, and in the twilight zone. " Darling fortuitously I missed the flight and spent the night at the airport and caught an early morning flight," gushed Rahul and broke down. Both Rahul and Priya were locked in an embrace and wept inconsolably. " Rahul, from today I will not take pictures of the sinking sun," remarked Priya in an effete voice. " No more twilight zones for me," Priya added. " Yes let it be the rising the sun ..... Udayan, "gushed Rahul. " And the logo of our company would be a rising sun with the mission statement, Solutions are discovered as the sun rises in the horizon."