She sat there on the bed, propped up against a pillow. The room is dark except for the golden shade of sunlight incident on the curtain behind. Bits of crumbled papers lie on the floor. A few fresh sheets of paper rest above the writing pad on her lap. The gel pen with its top behind waited between her fingers. And yet, she felt drained… She senses the void inside. It keeps on expanding as the sun rose and set. The exam time table peeps out of the bag amidst the pile of clothes at the opposite corner of the room.
There was one part of her reminding of studies and examinations, but the voice has almost fainted in the back of her head. She returned back to stare at the sheet of blank paper before her. The messy bun-ed curls slowly cascade down the sides of her face in tight ringlets. She brings the dense curls to the left side leaving her right shoulder half-naked by the loose t-shirt collar.
She switches ON the music player. The wind from the rusty old fan sways her carbon-black hair. They touch her lips and tired eyes running over her face. She closes her eyes. Her favorite “Closer tonight” by Elsten Torres plays in the music player behind. She inhales the smell of her hair.
She senses his face hidden in her hair. She pleads him to not tickle and to let her write. He complains that he wasn’t tickling, but just breathing. He says that her hair smelled good and tempting. She conceals her smile and continues writing. If there was something she loved as much as him, it was her pen. She wrote about her dreams, thoughts and whatever her heart murmured.
But she never revealed him that it was him who was hidden in all her stories. She veiled him and her feelings safely in the puzzle she created in her writings. She looked into his eyes, many a time, hoping she could tell him, but she turned her eyes every time he caught hers. She could say nothing but conceal her smile turning her face away. She continues writing and locks of her hair keep curtaining her vision.
She pushes them to the back of her ears with fingers, but the story continued the same whenever she did so. And then her heart suddenly skipped a beat and her pen slipped the line. His cold fingers slid through her hair. Her brain reminded her to breathe. But she failed to, with his face so close to her.
She stared at him as he held her hair and managed to hold it above her head in a messy bun. He smiled her favorite smile revealing his dimple beneath the well-groomed stubble and said: “well, now you can write your heart out, my lady because that’s what brought me to you. I’ll take care of your irresistible mess”, winking. She smiled and continued writing.
She opens her eyes to see the blank paper before her. Darkness has painted the room in dull black. Her pen waited, but her heart was ink-less. She had lost the light in her soul. The light has faded away into the fog far away. She wished he would come back and her paper will fill as it used to. Another fresh page gets crumbled and seeks salvation on the floor. Elsten Torres finishes singing in the background…
This is a self-published post. It does not represent the values and ideology of The Meraki.