What more could I ask for?

◔◔ ◔ Aly ◔ ◔ ◔

I was staring at the man, who was comfortably sleeping on my lap.

How calm and divine he looked under the deem light of the moon.

Now seeing him no one would understand that this man had treated me badly a while ago

Subconsciously my hand reached his face and lingered over his smooth skin and extraordinary facial feature - starting from his forehead, then nose and at last end at his lips.

He was one of the scariest people I've ever met.

One moment he was affectionate, childish, and caring ; and the next moment he became so cold and atrocious that it would seem that he himself was the king of hell.

Yet I don't know why I always found a sense of security from him, my mind forced me to believe it he would never harm me.

But I hate on thing about him - the way he treated poor people. As if only the lives of the rich have value, the lives of the poor have no value at all.

But what could be the reason behind that behavior in the study room?