She was everything she needed.
Arranged, Controlled, Assured, Stable
She was much more.
Yet her beliefs were stirred, fragmented.
She was holding onto her threads.
Wanting nothing more, but to not have the history repeated.
He was forbidden from...
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-This will pass-
-Author-
"I pity you. If I was in your place, I'd rather kill myself than live a life being unwanted."
Aahana blinks open her eyes to a dark room, her fingers clutching the duvet firmly as she takes a deep breath. She gets up promptly and sits straight, clutching her head which was wrecking her again by evoking the reminiscences of those nights which were punishing her callously over the years.
"No." She whispers as she wobbles her head terribly, trying to let those haunting voices out of her mind. But she knew they weren't leaving her anytime soon, not until they destroyed her into barren cinders. She buries her head in her palms, mentally intoning herself to not fall into this trap again, for she didn't have the strength and support to deal with her anxiety for the second time that day.
"No." She mutters softly and sighs when the voices turn distant and leave her mind momentarily. She runs her fingers through her hair looking around the dark room, she feels that the darkness prevailed in the room exemplifying her inner state discernibly. She felt as if the bed she was sitting on held her captive, binding her to the invisible chains of the fears eddying in her soul, their hold was strong and vigilant on her weak body stopping her from fleeing away. If only she was strong, and her confidence was vigilant enough. The vivid images of that nightmarish landscape danced at the fringes of her waking mind, elusive yet disturbing.
Basking in the darkness for a while, she closes her eyes again, willing the carousel of dreams of last night to return, for her mind to tumble back to her dreams leaving this agonising realm, but it didn't. Now that the tasks of the day are demanding, she thinks about them and processes her day's schedule.
She was awake and there was no retreat. It was way past afternoon already.
She steals a glance at the clock which was ticking incessantly; in the dark room, even the ticking of the clock had a relaxed feeling as if it was a heartbeat at rest. She perches up, pushes the duvet off steps down on the cool rug, makes her bed, and then enters the bathroom. Finishing her errands in the next thirty minutes, she steps out, wrapped in a robe.
She stands before an open wardrobe, considering her options. Her clothing choices lean towards comfort and affluence. She picks a pair of well-worn, fitted jeans that have moulded to her shape over time, ensuring both comfort and style. She slips them on effortlessly, the fabric embracing her contours like a second skin.
Next, she reaches for a soft, oversized jumper in a calming, muted colour, a favourite that never fails to provide warmth and comfort. The generous folds of the fabric drapes gracefully over her shoulders, giving her an air of casual sophistication.
She takes a moment to glance at herself in the mirror, appreciating the understated chic of her chosen outfit. Her reflection reveals a relaxed posture, a sign that she feels at ease and confident in her clothing.
