the girl was now a little bit more protective of herself.
perhaps, also her seat.
the first rains made the windows of the train foggy,
and the girl would spend her journeys making drawings on them.
she knew little of condensation,
and more of the worlds she chose to bring to life.
she lived in a universe of her own
with the ghosts that would sit with her at night
recollecting her pain
and putting it down on paper.
one day all the paper in the world seemed to have lost its magic.
and that is the day she discovered another passenger on the train.
i hate this part of the story.
-
there is an innate human tendency to perceive a higher version of the self when you look in the mirror.
or when putting oneself down in front of you.
i believe she saw a similar higher self in her co passenger.
she was sure to make sharp observations, as she was accustomed to.
this person, never sat in the same seat.
in a way, it was brave.
our little girl would never have given up her seat.
it was her seat.
now this person
the whole train seemed to be hers.
she was brave in ways ours could never be.
she might not have been beautiful, but she wore whatever she had on with indistinguishable pride.
she needed nobody else to complement her.
and worst of all, for our protagonist,
she was just an ordinary girl.
she bore nothing that exceeded limits.
and in every quantitative measure, our little girl ran the race much farther than her.
her ordinariness seemed so scary.
-
when our girl started disliking the new addition, it was understandable that it came from a place of intimidation.
but she approached her, nonetheless.
to perhaps,
extract.
steal.
run.
the ordinary girl was indifferent to approach,
at first.
but then looked at her.
thought nothing harmful of it.
slid to the window seat, and offered the aisle.
our little lady had never given up her window seat,
but
it's okay i guess.
it's okay,
she guessed.
-
for a long time,
the extraordinary girl was okay sitting in the aisle seat.
and the beautiful ordinary girl sat in the window seat.
and they talked.
atleast she did.
about lives.
deaths.
loves.
hatred.
all the little sad things.
all the things which seemed happy.
about the boy with the big eyes.
the beautiful ordinary girl listened.
she nodded.
and smiled.
and kept mum.
there was something so special about her silence.
it felt like
something
our protagonist wasn't worthy of.
no
the protagonist wasn't worthy of her presence.
in front of her,
our girl crumbles.
like a castle of cards.
all that fuss over nothing,
the silence seems uncomfortable.
so she talks.
and talks.
and talks.
and
talks.
-
one day
our girl boards the train.
and it is silent.
with all the talking she's done,
she opens her mouth to fill the swallowing silence,
but
nothing comes out.
there is an excruciating pain.
and the silent girl
is on another seat.
with another passenger.
and she watched him talk.
and watched her listen.
the silent girl looks at her.
for a second.
the look holds pity.
an eerie pity.
our girl screams.
shrieks.
all in silence.
not a word to be heard.
the train bustles with noise. there is the clinking of the teacups. the shuffling of feet. the periodic snap of the fan every time it completes a round. the laughing of children. the anxious chattering. the jerking of the train. the bell.
the train is no longer safe.
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