She was indulging herself in the melody of silence. Looking at the green trees from the lounge of the library, she could feel them dancing to the feat of the orchestra that has been playing around her for days. Books lay scattered over the table, begging to get arranged, begging to go home — their book shelf.  But she was a sadist, perhaps. She ignored them, may be because her life was more messed up than theirs , may be because her disheveled hair was more pretty than the torn memories of her life.

She ignored them, an act which she learnt , an act which she liked: ignoring and being ignored. She remembered how he would deliberately ignore her , even read her Facebook messages, which would then be marked as ‘seen‘ and then he will not give any reply to her. It overjoyed her to see that in this whole act of ignoring, he was actually remembering her, remembering to ‘ignore‘ her.

She took her pen and started writing what fate forgot to write. She dwelt in her blank imagination, sometimes writing a sentence, sometimes a verse. She did not know what she was writing; all she knew was : she had to write.

A very familiar voice broke through her reverie .

‘We are doing internships here ‘, the familiar male voice was explaining to the librarian. Mohona saw the man talking to the librarian, as a girl beside him stood silently.  She jumped off from the table and hid behind the racks, leaving the pen, paper and the books.  The girl beside the man seemed to be a different one, not the one Mohona had expected.

She was in a complete shock. She never expected Shabuj to turn up there like this. Else, she would not have come. She had decided to  visit her brother’s place and was hovering in the library of the university where her brother taught. She had hoped that perhaps, summer would be peaceful for her. She watched the girl walking towards the lounge, holding Shabuj’s hands. coming near her window-seat, she stopped. ‘ I will go and get the books. You find  place to sit’.

Shabuj nodded as the girl left. Mohona’s eyes followed him.

Shabuj passed by Mohona’s table and her handwriting caught his attention. He took the diary and started reading. Mohona ran towards the other corner of the room and made her way through the stairs, perhaps scared to see Shabuj’s expression as he read the diary:

‘I have always loved Shabuj’. Shabuj read the whole episode, titled ,’ A confession’. ‘ Devika is really lucky’, Mohona had written.

Shabuj looked at Meredith who was busy choosing books for them. ‘ She is too nagging and too bossy’, he thought. May be , he should start thinking about Sarah. She was smart, pretty and much better !!


10 thoughts on “HER STORY

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