He sat in the plane uncomfortably. His head spun as the pilot took off, he hates flying, especially in such circumstances. What am I doing here? He wondered silently as he rested his back on the seat, to where I’m running? To who? The truth is he isn’t running to anyone, he’s running from someone, o running from that painful experiment that he’s been through.
He fired all the thoughts from his head and closed his eyes, trying to sleep in his long journey, but he couldn’t, as her picture hunted him, and the memories, good o bad, flashed before his eyes. Every word, every moment,...