Amidst A Thousand Suns

~deciphering cryptics~

I am so, so, so sorry for being such unresponsive to all your lovely comments (╥﹏╥)
I promise I will do whenever I will get the time.

...

Aaghyaa's P.O.V.

~~~

I decided that dad's journal held more information about mom than the astrologer that we met on a family trip to Madurai some years ago.
The baba had said that she would get married soon if she bought a talisman from him.
The only thing noticable here was that me and my dad were standing right there, beside her.
So, dad's journal was definitely important.

Reading the diary was pretty depressing.
Just like how my whole life has been, but now, I am pretty chill about it.
In fact, I can make jokes about my depression and dying.
So maybe, I am becoming comfortable with the fact that I am who I am or else, I am getting worse and it's only a matter of time that I do something unspeakable.

Meh, I am past all the worries now.

The only thing that irritated me and caused me to go on a full angry rant was Alfaaz's hope.
Hope in me that I will get better one day.
And maybe I will, but his constant hints directed at me to not loose hope was a bit frustrating.

School updates:- my first pre-boards are near. So, after I sneakily read all of dad's entries in his diary when mom is working at the bank, I start studying for the exams after she comes.
Not that she comes to my room to check if I am studying or not like a regular mom, but I don't want to take any risks.
I need to help her without her knowing; till she realises that this life is worth living and starts to heal herself.

Why don't I apply this theory for myself?
Such a hypocrite of me.

Till where I have read, I can assure that the part where mom said she met him in a library in Mussoorie was correct.
The description of meeting her by my dad was one of the most beautiful pieces I have ever read.

My dad wasn't a poet like me, but the fact that people that are not poets or writers try to feel and write like poets or writers is such a beautiful thing in itself.
That itself; the trying, is poetry.

And so was the part that she was tormented in her home when she was a teen.
That was correct too.

I shook all the other thoughts away and opened the page of the journal from where I last left off.

'I am not able to focus on work anymore. My entries in this journal are also getting very to-the-point and short, but just as I said, I can't focus on anything anymore other than Anamika.
Today after dinner, we were discussing about the pleasant weather in Mussoorie and how we had drenched in the rains when we met there all those years ago. When the topic of her parents came, she got so violent that she was on the verge of breaking a plate.
This is getting worse. I don't know what's up with her.'

The entries after this one were pretty same and so I skipped through them quickly until I found one entry.

One thing was for sure; the entire story that she said to me was not all true.

'Anamika hides a secret. A very deep and dark one. I have been suspecting it all along but I denied it until yesterday midnight. I saw her hugging a photo frame and crying softly at the middle of the night. She kept whispering that she was sorry and it was all her fault.
I can't see her like this anymore.
I am talking to her tomorrow and convincing her to go to therapy. That's it.'