The Stepsisters' Diary of Musical Tidbits

Chapter three

Dear Diary,

Change is inevitable. It makes everything vulnerable, gives things a new light to shine in. It makes life... changeable.

Change is what makes us weak, and at the same time, strong. It tests our patience, our endurance to bullshit, our taste for a challenge, us. It makes us realize that nothing stays the same. It makes us smarter, wiser, knowledgeable.

So why do I hate it then, the change? Why can't I stand the sight of him? Why is it that I can't even handle a small move across the country when it's for everything I believe in, everything I'm good at?

Because... it's a change. And probably not for the better.

♬ ♭

Chapter three

Dinner, according to Sakhi, could have been far, far worse. Lily-Anne arrived at the table precisely twenty minutes after everyone had already settled in and proceeded to sit in Sanjay’s chair.

It’s just a chair, Sakhi.

Sakhi felt her fists clench beneath the table top, her eyes threatening to pop out as her father spoke of his day, his work, his archaeology, his life. Francis merely drank her wine as she swatted away Lily-Anne’s hand from the bowl of bread and handed her a fork. For sometime Sakhi wondered if that meant the girl had to get the bread out that way. Then, she watched Lily-Anne sulkily eat away at the salad on her plate. It almost made her snort.

“Which reminds me, Lily,” Francis spoke. “Have you found a suitable cello teacher?”

“You play the cello?” Harold asked with the surprise evident in his voice. “You must play for us.”

Sakhi pretended to play with the chicken on her plate, ignoring how this little fact had indeed surprised her. Maybe the girl wasn’t all stupid.

“I don’t play for people, and no, I didn't find a teacher yet, mother.”

Sakhi told herself it wasn’t her place to call her words in her head, even if it wasn’t to her face. She wasn’t normal, though, this Lily-Anne Campbell. Probably even a little bit of an egotistical retard. Sakhi didn’t know what was worse, that she sat there judging, or that she sat there judging a sixteen year old. What that said about her was something Sakhi didn’t allow herself to dwell on.

“Lily likes to throw her weight around, Harold. You’ll hear her through the not so sound proof door she likes to shut every now and then.”

Francis had a good hand on her daughter, at least. The fact gave Sakhi little or no consolation. Lord knew what the girl would do tomorrow, or the day after, or right this moment, for that matter. It made her want to stand up and lock all the doors and draw the curtains close on all the windows, probably even seal the small openings and cracks here and there shut. Would that prevent the apocalypse from occurring? No. Not really.

“I’ll go play on the streets.” Lily-Anne threatened idly.

“For everyone else to pry? I don’t think so, love. Have a little more of the chicken. Sakhi, this is absolutely lovely. Thank you for dinner.”

Harold smiled at her, while Lily-Anne didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow.

“How was your day, Sakhi?” her father asked as she cleared the dishes.

“The same,” she replied, nonplussed and distracted. It was so silly, obsessing over a sixteen year old living in her (old) bedroom. “I’m very tired though.”

“I can imagine.” Harold patted her head before continuing. “I’m... sorry for this.”

Sakhi looked at him then, between scrubbing the dishes. The sound of the rubber gloves against the used china and froth was rather irritating, but she didn’t dare stop. This looked like one hell of a conversation... and apology.