Ashima winked at her. “I noticed on the first day itself; you are such a cute girl; somewhat innocent; I thought you might be having plenty of nuisa...ces in the bus.”“Very much true,” Vanishree admitted. “Sometimes my tits get sore. Guys keep squeezing them in the bus as if they are made of wheat flour.”Mrs. Ashima laughed uncontrollably. “What else?”“They rub their thing against my ass while the bus takes turns,” Vanishree’s face grew red as she continued. “Sometimes they bring their hands. ‘Venita. You’re an artist.’ Said Abigail in flat statement. ‘I doodle.’ She denied, pouring hot tea into the two cups. ‘I’m not an artist.’ ‘You forget, Venita Prasad, I’ve seen your work. You,’ Abigail sipped sweetness ‘are an artist.’ ‘Ok. I’m an artist.’ Venita stirred her tea with nonchalance, or she hoped it looked that way, at least casual ‘So what?’ ‘So I need your opinion Ms Artist.’ Mocked Abigail ‘You so do not need my opinion, you have a much better eye for composition than me.’. More

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