--jawad zamir was busy extremely also because his monthly magazine khushbu
was his dream and it was to be its anniversary issue, the peon had placed his hot tea cup steaming when he had called him, but in his involvement in his over enthusiasm of completing his work lot he forgot his tea, when he did pick it up it was cold , he again pressed the bell , again the peon came in, who was again asked for a hot cup of tea, to take the cold one back, not even lifting his head jawad zamir kept on looking at the papers and editing , the door was heard reopening, someone asked permission to enter, he commanded the voice to come in and this time he felt the voice belonged to a woman, not the peon, but still engrossed in his passion of reading and editing material he invited the visitor to take a seat, not bothering to see who it was he asked the name, the woman replied she was rabab nyazi--the writer who sends her writings to the magazine regularly, this time he lifted his head to look straight at the young woman who did not match with his speculated image of her , whose mature philosophically solid writings full of depth and meaning of life had impressed him, he had believed her to be somewhere in her fifties, but she was wise and for the wise maturity of thoughts mattered at any age , one does not have to be necessarily old to be wise, she had personally come to submit her writings for the anniversary special issue
was his dream and it was to be its anniversary issue, the peon had placed his hot tea cup steaming when he had called him, but in his involvement in his over enthusiasm of completing his work lot he forgot his tea, when he did pick it up it was cold , he again pressed the bell , again the peon came in, who was again asked for a hot cup of tea, to take the cold one back, not even lifting his head jawad zamir kept on looking at the papers and editing , the door was heard reopening, someone asked permission to enter, he commanded the voice to come in and this time he felt the voice belonged to a woman, not the peon, but still engrossed in his passion of reading and editing material he invited the visitor to take a seat, not bothering to see who it was he asked the name, the woman replied she was rabab nyazi--the writer who sends her writings to the magazine regularly, this time he lifted his head to look straight at the young woman who did not match with his speculated image of her , whose mature philosophically solid writings full of depth and meaning of life had impressed him, he had believed her to be somewhere in her fifties, but she was wise and for the wise maturity of thoughts mattered at any age , one does not have to be necessarily old to be wise, she had personally come to submit her writings for the anniversary special issue
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