𝐀𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐀

f i v e

t/w (not harsh but can be triggering in some ways)

❦

     T H E  M O R N I N G  A F T E R arrived slowly at Hira Ghar as Aaina still lay in bed like a bee in a bed of nectar, bone-weary, and absolutely bushed. More than a few guests still lingered in chit-chatting even after midnight, forcing Aaina to just give up on them and go to bed instead.

     Her arms stretched, wide over the bedside table as a slow yawn made its way out of her mouth. On it, rested a bundle of parchments inside an unlocked box, fluttering softly in the light morning breeze. Aaina, still drowsy and thoughtless, stared into space outside the jharoka. It was almost a ritual before a thought would interrupt her mind, and she'd really wake up. Everything was still at that time. Only her and the sun. But it doesn't stay for long.

     The brightness expounded the bold letters on the parchment further, and her eyes caught the flickering page along with what she had written on it. The panicky scribbles and letters. She wrote it to hide, to convey, and to relieve her mind. Little did she know it would pinch her all over again, just by looking at it.

     Mornings were always precious. To wake up in silence, in serenity and light, is one of many privileges of life. Yet the mind will attach itself to anything you see the moment the eyes open. So did Aaina.

     Her heart suddenly was heavy, a small tug, and her body went numb. Am I awake or not? Is it a dream? Those thoughts went as fast as they came, but they left her feeling a hammering inside. As if something is moving inside of her, a terrifying current rising and rising.

     At some point, the table had knocked over, seas of parchments and rolls cascaded in the open air, leaving a sobbing Aaina, crumpled on the side of the bed. She hardly even knew the reason for her despair anymore.

    Empty, powerless, and wounded. It  would have been better if she had never known her family at all than to have been left with crumbs of vague clues in a cloud of nothing. What was she to do?

    A worried Razia stepped inside the room to find her almost helpless. Maybe nothing in her life would change. Maybe it wasn't as monumental a problem she thought. Razia often thought Aaina had the tendency to sometimes blow things out of proportion and elongate a minimal thought out of need. Overthinking the smallest of things. But as she saw how her cheeks scrunched in pain, the tears that begged to come out, she felt it. She wasn't only crying, she looked in pain.

    What could be more real than that? It's not an illusion if she feels it in her bones, throbbing in her blood to pour out in hesitant sobs.

    As for Aaina, what were these feelings? A stubborn wish, a childish yearn for those who were only ghosts in her mind. The half the reasons and weak connections she strived to understand.

     Razia brought a pot full of water and sat beside Aaina, who soon realised someone was in the room. She sat up quickly in panic as if a parent caught their child stealing a sweet, frantically wiping her tears.

     "Aaina! Shh, why are you crying?" Razia's palms squeezed her shoulders in assurance.

     "Nothing, look." The expressions on her face had somehow taken a turn as only a few tears remained on a smiling, bright countenance like she hadn't been crying at all.