Note: This story as we progress will go more towards some dark and disturbing themes like abuse, mental disorders, bipolarity etc. Its nothing extreme though. And neither too graphic.
Hope you all will enjoy reading it since I have already planned out the plot.
Dedicated to a dear friend and an amazing author:
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She stared at the ceiling above, exhaling in and out, thinking about the day's events.
For some very queer reason, her mind remained glued to his face. His soft smile. Innocent banters. Brown curls flying in the wind and bright hazel eyes that seemed to light up each time he spoke.
She turned to the left, feeling the comfort of her cotton night dress seep into her.
She twirled a stray strand of her hair. "How weird," she mumbled turning to the other side, "I am thinking about a random stranger whom I met like two days ago."
She frowned her eyebrows. But this time after a couple of seconds she smiled.
For the first time in her life, she felt relief and happiness. Which itself was a very rare thing since she had never really experienced those two words but had only known their meaning.
Realising she couldn't sleep that night, she woke up with a start and trotted to her drawers on her four limbs.
She bit her lips in concentration as her hands feverishly groped the inside of her drawer, searching for a particular picture.
She layed all those things on her bed that her hands had gathered.
Sewing needles, graph books and pill bottles.
Her lips quivered as tears welled up in her eyes. She grasped her comforter, her fingernails digging into it.
She started shaking her head to and fro whispering again and again the same sentence, "Did I lost it? Did I lost it? "
She felt her entire body tremble. She ran to the shelves and started throwing away the books haphazardly. She punched, screamed and banged her head on the surface of the shelve, occasionally cussing out.
Her fit suddenly stopped when she saw a small piece of paper lying beside her bed post. She immediately rushed towards it and picked it up.
Her smile came back. She rubbed off her tears as she sat on her bed cradling the chipped off photo to her bosom as if it was the most precious thing in the world.
The smiling old lady stared back at her as she traced her thumb across it. "Grandma, grandma's do you know,"she continued, rocking the vintage photo as if it was a makeshift baby, " I met somebody new today."
Dried tears were still on her cheeks as she tapped her finger on her chin.
She giggled. "And I think he genuinely likes me."
"He is not like him though," she added in afterthought thinking her grandmother might confuse him with him. She clenched her teeth at the very mention of his name but kept her tongue. "He is different."
She layed on her bed, whispering in a low tone as if she was afraid someone might hear them talking. "Very different."
She kept laying there with a photo gripped to her chest, with a smile- that any other person would describe as 'lunatic' narrating the day's tales to a lifeless photo.
She spoke for more than one hour, endlessly not even feeling tired.
After all the lady in the photo was the only person who had stepped in this world to whom she could lay her heart out.
The only one who had genuinely ever liked her. Without any ulterior motive.
The once most important person in her life who had been snatched away from her by her very own parents.
Her chest heaved. "If only they hadn't killed you."
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