♛ featured in wattpad india's #celebratingwomen reading list. ♛
❛ she walks on the path, that the letters had carved.❜
Have you ever heard of a Literature student dealing with guns and criminals? Probably only in Shakespearean art, but now we are in...
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before we begin,
silent readers, please do vote (atleast) it helps me know whether you are liking the story or not.
then, just a tip ;-)
Alsooo!! I am super interested in knowing your theories, so at the end of the chapter, just put the theory you came up with, reading the book.
I read some and they are so 🙊
━━━━ ♛ ━━━━ INAAYAT ━━━━♛━━━━
I splash water on my face, from the running tap, trying to wash away the dirt of my past, the dent of my darkness.
The soothing cold droplets of water tickle my cheeks, as they race from my forehead to my jaw and then, falling on the collar of my t-shirt.
I stare at my reflection, disparaging my existence.
The cracked and dirty mirror contains the image of the girl who was once broken, haunted, distressed and scared.
But not anymore.
I move a little away from the slab, the empty hostel's washroom gives me a chance to calm myself down after the tiring trip and the haunting dream, I suffered after three months.
Luckily, no one was in the tent when I had woken up shouting from my nightmare. I had spent the last day, dreading to reach the hostel and to come back to the calmness of the hostel's bed if not my home's.
I carefully lift the end of my tee, higher and higher till a scar comes insight.
Red, stitched and old.
I was thirteen when I saw him die, right in front of my eyes. My screams, his silence still rings in my ears and the redness of his blood still carved in the deepest memories of my mind.
I sigh as I let the tee fall back to its place, and I leave the washroom drying my face with the towel, I had carried.
Instead of going back to my room, I take the steps to the ground floor and take my phone out dialling a number, I hadn't contacted in months.
