Memories cold

Shaili sat by the light of the reading lamp, lost in Motherless Daughters. Every page was like a dagger to her heart and yet she wouldn’t put the book down. She was convinced the book had found her to untie the knots of her raucous thoughts that’d so often turn monstrous, defeat her, drown her and then savagely fling her ashore to go figure another day without her mother. It was rinse and repeat for ten searing years. No, the words did not clam the storm within. Maybe, just maybe, they gave the tempest a course.   

A gentle zephyr rushed in through the window, as if to check on her, offer her a healing hug. Why was she so cold tonight? A lump or two rose to Shaili’s throat. But no, she couldn’t fall apart. She had to turn another page, no matter how hard. To think a book could blow her into smithereens and yet offer solace like a shred of sunlight breaking through the darkest hour? Shaili was stunned.    

A college-goer, Shaili always had a title or two on her, especially when in community spaces. They were her smoothest escapes from all kinds of fluff. But never Motherless Daughters. The title opened her wounds without permission. The world didn’t have to see her scars. There could be no cracks in the strong-woman façade.

Only the night knew her plight. Only the night could keep the world out of sight. While Shaili stared blankly at the empty wall facing her, a short burst of wind turned over a few pages. It was sign that she’d shattered enough for the night. Shaili placed the bookmark, a postcard from her mother, in between the pages, closed the book, and gently kept it aside. Blanketed in memories cold, she crawled into her bed. The book didn’t hold answers to all her questions, but she dozed off in the arms of dream knowing her feelings were no less valid, that others too had fault in their stars. 

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge)