In a completely dark room, she sat on her bed under a blanket a small torch illuminating the tent she made, with a book in her hand, flipping through pages and tracing the lines she imagines what a zombie looked like, a small frown etched on her forehead all this while when she thought about the picture created in her mind by the words she read. A knock on the door startles her and she hurries to switch off the torch and falls on the bed in a heap. She could hear the footsteps of her mom advancing towards her; she feels her heat and concludes her mother is standing on the edge of the bed. It is not long before she pulls the blanket from over her face and kisses on her forehead, something she does every night, she thinks. True to it, soon her mother leaned in and pulled the blanket to place a light kiss on her forehead and ran her hand on her daughter’s face lovingly.
Thinking that she is asleep she murmured ‘you are going to suffocate yourself someday baby’ and left the room. Little did she know her daughter heard her every word, not just this night but every night. With that she got back to reading the book under the blanket with torch light again. When she felt her eyes drowsy, she popped her head out of the blanket and flashed her torch on the wall clock that hung on the wall across her. When the light fell on the figure of tweety she scrunched up her face as she tried to read the time, 4:00 am registered in her brain and just like that she closed the book, switched off the torch and embraced sleep.
Next morning she was up at 7:00 am, before her mom could call for her, she brushed her teeth and freshened up to go sit on the dinning table for breakfast with family. She met the warm eyes of her mother as she entered the living room, she smiled looking up to her mother she loved so much but failed to show, but deep inside she knew her mother understood it all and that is the reason she stuck around. As soon as her father walks into the room, she becomes rigid and all traces of smile gone, she walks straight to her chair and waits for her mother to serve her breakfast. Her father takes a seat on the right with his newspaper, with a stiff countenance and firm voice he asks her about her studies and she replies with a word “good”.
Her father then asks her to pass the jug of juice that of freshly squeezed oranges, she was doing it just right but she does not know how the handle of the jug left her sweaty palms and the table cloth was dripping with orange juice, she was clumsy yes but this was not out of her clumsiness. Maybe she feared her father way too much and in the anxiety to not upset him, it slipped out of her grasp. But the deed was done and she could see the fumes coming out of her father’s head, she laughed a little at that, which did not help her situation. As a result she was made to sit in her room with her breakfast in the plate that was handed to her. She did not mind though, it was always like that her on one side and her parents with her little brother on the other. She saw the sorry look her mom gave her when she left her room; she just smiled to let her know she is fine. She prefers it to be alone now that way she won’t embarrass or hurt anyone. Also no one will be able to hurt her by commenting on her clumsiness and incapability to express feelings.
Leaving her plate washed clean in the sink of her bathroom she walks on to get ready for college. She pairs a white shirt with black denims, leaving the collar button open, and then she goes for her watch which is quite a symbol of her since she never steps out of the house without wearing it. She ties her hair into a high ponytail, piling her books into her sling back she moves to the door, she puts on her sport shoes and walks out, she types a small message to her mom informing her about her timings of college and classes today since her dad was still somewhere around the living room.
When she walks into the classroom, she can hear the whispers of the other girls, they surely must be commenting on her dressing sense she thinks, guys look at her with disgust, one even goes to extent of calling her weirdo as he passes her. Nothing affects her, just because she does not like dressing up, following the trend, talking much does not mean she is weird, in the eyes of the society yes but not for people who really care. So what if she does not like talking much and making friends, she prefers it that way. She walks to the last bench where she sees his only friend sitting, she goes and sits beside him, ‘all good?’ he asks. She simply nods. And just like that she knows the approval of others is not needed.