Mohini goes to her garden, just at the front of her house.
A small garden.
Her Paradise.
Her ways to be in her heaven, far away from the madding crowd.
Specially in the morning, when the town has not woken.
Those saplings.
They keep her awake all day and all night.
And when going to the garden, she tends their leaves, waters them, and admires the beauty of those blossoms and buds, she finds her moment of bliss.
Her Murat stands there just by her side, often smiling at her ways of nurturing her garden of peace and beauty.
Mohini finds her living there.
Right there at the hearts of those trees, saplings, their lives.
She finds her Murat too.
She finds her Murat in her.
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