Her pillow complained of being wet, her clock was not left alone that night. She had been sniffing all through the night, restless, deprived of sleep, attempting every way possible to link the scrambled pieces of puzzle that were in her mind, to a meaningful picture. Every picture she could make out of the pieces, made her cry. Her brain had become a labyrinth of the figments of her imaginations where she had lost herself. Her tears finally dried and the sniffing stopped. She turned over on her bed, closed her eyes. It seemed to her that she was numb, devoid of everything heavy, every single feeling, pain or otherwise, that could vouch for her being alive. Suddenly she felt no mass. So light a self, her mortal hands were headed up against the air pressure, as she felt falling into a blissful abyss, eyes closed, head first.
She woke up to the pleasant hum of the birds. So beautiful this state is, lifeless and dull. Nothing to look forward to, nothing to keep expectations from. Simple, pure bliss. Crying somehow, gives more meaning, more substance to you, even if it renders you massless, hopeless, and everything in you “less”. Its good to lose for you don't have to worry about the win. Its good to stay depressed, for you don't have to pretend to be happy. It actually is good to feel this void in yourself, for then every veil you adorn yourself with is set ablaze to reveal the true you. The lonely you. The weak you. But you.
She looked at the clock by her bedside. 10:14 a.m. She wondered if he had left. She wished he had left. And immediate to this wish, she apologised realising how cruel a thought it was.
How beautifully manipulated a woman is by a man. His bad, and she felt guilty.
She did not want to run into him again, but why? Why did she want to punish him when she knew he was not the one to be blamed.
She thought of the day he had come over to see her exactly a week before. When she allowed him to stay in the house for the week, how could have Sana known he would leave her in this state. And, even if she had known, she wouldn’t have refused. After all, he was Saad’s friend and a new face for the town. Saad, Sana’s husband, would have never let him stay anywhere else. If Saad was alive…
He had come to pay his condolences. He had come to share grief like many others who came to give Sana a shoulder to cry upon, a shoulder Sana never needed. She hardly cried in the daytime. She was strong enough to not let the broad daylight bear witness to her tears. It was the night that had the power of extracting all the strength she mustered in the daytime, and leave her vulnerable.
Six days of the friend’s stay passed for Sana like all the other days after Saad, without any direction, clueless and blank. It was the sixth night that brought the turmoil in Sana’s heart and mind.
Saad had lost his life in a car accident. At least this was what Sana knew, until that sixth night.
Asad. Asad was Saad’s friend who had come over to stay with Sana. But this meeting was not like any other, he had come with an objective. Poor Sana. Little did she knew she was falling into the trap that was being laid by Asad. A broken heart is always an easy catch. Asad knew this very well for he was a practised player.
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