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It is a wet monsoon morning, with the air being sharp and chilly, a few drops of a soft drizzle on girl's face, the single drop on her lower lip making my entire being tremble. The road is a dark grey, the rain lending it a matte sheen. The sky is grey, bruised purple in places. The trees are tall, dark, and intimidating, like the male protagonist of every Mills and Boon story ever. The grass is dewy, green and fresh, and it is a marvelous morning