Chronological Tea Talk

When I was 7, a strange connection to novels, preferably classical, was formed in the pit of my heart. Black beauty was the first to tie a knot there. With two braids which I used to always wear back then, they resembled the horse reigns, giving me the perfect opportunity to live as Anna Sewell’s characters. When I was 10, we took “A Christmas Carol” in school as one semester’s novel. I was mesmerised by the beauty and the complexity yet the simplicity the story offered. It was when I first learnt to dig deeper behind each word to vividly imagine the underlying meaning they could hold. When I was 14, a thrilling, captivating, and soul wrenching story rested among its peers deep down. Wuthering Heights was my companion for myriads of sleepless nights and often, restless days. It carved something inside of me, a feeling which I was too young to fathom, but I let it reside there willingly. After a year, another made a grand entrance to my heart as well. Having read