Hold My Hand

Pradeep stood awestruck gaping at the multi-storey. While growing up in a small village he never imagined that one day he would reach Chicago, America, the land of dreams.

When he got the scholarship he couldn’t believe his luck and now standing here he wanted to pinch himself. He had taken a spoken English class in his village before coming.

He was confused with the traffic signals and nervously waiting to cross the road. A blonde came and said ‘Namastey, May I help you?’

She understood Hindi. She held his hands. They crossed the road and twenty five years, holding hands.

Word Count: 100

Prompt Image Courtesy:  Marie Gail Stratford

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the adorable Rochelle Wisoff Fields. To read more stories on this prompt click here.

 

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