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		<title>Ankur Choudhury | WritersCafe.org</title>
		<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/ankurchoudhury</link>
		<description>The original writings of author Ankur Choudhury</description>
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		<copyright>Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org</copyright>
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		<ttl>15</ttl>
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			<title>Last cultural night, together.</title>
			<description>He with his cold nose out there somewhere looking through the foogy sky into the stage. She, ontop the stage, was there in red dress, dancing to the hurling trashing basslined Manipuri song. Alas, this was the last one. Alas, this couldnt have been better. Alas, he saw her for one last time.Two ..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ankurchoudhury/1954742/</link>
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			<title>Chapter I - Pinocchio</title>
			<description>It was winter. He was out there somewhere with his cold nose out in the foggy night. Trashed the bass into the air was the box bleeding noise into the night. She in red, was with a mic in her hand, was waving him throug the starry sky.2013 passed on like this, like that and sometimes like nothin..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ankurchoudhury/1849148/</link>
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			<title>Cynthia</title>
			<description></description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ankurchoudhury/1849147/</link>
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			<title>The Peace in Leaving</title>
			<description>Basically about farewells and goodbyes.</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ankurchoudhury/1798631/</link>
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			<title>Unnamed [part3]</title>
			<description>She'd hold her breathwhen I asked the reason she told,&quot;I want to feel the death&quot;.I chased beyond her dreams,I searched for happiness,I went on in depthand there I understood.Today she lay over the bed she used to smile at.People mourns around, I watch it happen.I cry, my hands don't feel anymore, I ..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ankurchoudhury/1602156/</link>
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			<title>Unnamed [part1]</title>
			<description>She remained sereneas I took myself closer to herbut her eyes would stare the shops through the looking glassthrough the window of the school bus.There was nothing more beautiful than to see her sitting by the windowand her hairs being blown away with the summer windand seeing all the effort she had..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ankurchoudhury/1599034/</link>
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