Monday, 20 July 2015

Between the Pages



This is why she stopped writing. She is not good at keeping balance. It was always hard for her to get in. Always took bit of time to get into it.. but coming out was even harder. Always. 
She could have written something wonderful in her life, but sometimes good things have bad side effects. 
Her writings were one good thing about her, but she was more than that. She was a good person. 
What is a blessing for one, can be a curse for another. 

I do it often, reading her notebook. Though I never disclosed this to her, I think she knows. Maybe. 
Maybe we both know, what we don't say. 
And we both like to keep it this way.

"...As he puts his hand on her shoulder, knowing that she will be shocked, he kept quiet and just held his breath so that he could see every detail of her reaction. 
He had planned everything well and waited for this moment.. and needless to say, it was like years of wait for this moment to arrive!

She was in her usual tired state, long working hours of newly joined office had only added to her emotional and physical stress. Stepping out of that large gate, cold and moist air brushing her hairs and face, she encountered that unexpected touch on shoulder. 
Something familiar, something close to her, someone... behind her.. She shivered at that very instant. Her face flushed red. That was quick, fraction of seconds when fear, shock and the familiarity struck her together..

Her heartbeats fastened as she turned. She felt like something choked her and she tried to swallow, her throat dried.. and at the same instant her eyes met with his... And no! She was not shocked... She was stunned! Stunned to see him standing in front of her. 

They had never felt anything so strong. So many strong emotions together.. They said nothing. The energy spoke. The feelings radiated from them, were visible through the eyes. So many questions asked, everything seemed to be answered."
Last night, I found it. She always mentioned about something in her notebook. Something like a book or a novel I used to think. It was a Diary. The diary was nothing but a book that she was writing. I found it. Her imaginations. Her dreams. Or maybe both. Or maybe none. I am unable to find out exactly what it is.

She imagines something, writes it and dreams of it OR She dreams of something, writes it and starts imagining in real life. Whatever it was, it was beautiful. Very strong. I wonder how can someone imagine something or dream of something so strong. 

I read in her notebook how much she was troubled after writing this in her diary. She said that she literally felt someone behind her, the evening after the night she wrote this page. 
Whatever she wrote, it happened to her. In real or in the virtual, she couldn't figure out. She described how people behave with her because of her strange activities. 

I feel bad for this obsession of hers. Her diary and her notebook.. these are not just two.. there is something between that. Something more than what's written. She trespassed the boundary. The contour which separated her two lives. One that was outwardly and one that was inside her. Both were important. They completed her.

Pages missing from one, were found in another.

--Coauthored  - Neha & Raahi