Enigma

Chapter-2: Frosty Echoes

Winter mornings held a silent magic for her who sought solace in the calmness of her own company. As a feast unfolded in the neighbor's apartment, inviting her to join the lively crowd, she declined the invitation. The revelry was a distant echo, for Cynthia had mastered the art of hiding herself from the world. She just didn't care.

Once, Cynthia had envisioned herself as a loving mother, craving the unique bond that comes with motherhood. However, life had unfolded differently, leaving her with unfulfilled dreams and a sense of isolation. The raucous sounds outside her apartment intensified her growing headache, the rhythm of childish delight now more of a painful cacophony.

Yet, life had taken unexpected turns, leading Cynthia down a path where dreams seemed like distant illusions. Men are naturally stronger in their arms, while women find strength in their legs, a testament to the unique journey of pregnancy awaiting them in adulthood. The dreams of feeling the butterfly fluttering in her belly had morphed into an unattainable desire for the penetration of a hard flesh to feel the sensation and warmth.

The children's relentless play outside her haven intensified her headache, a throbbing pain that had lingered since a sleepless night. In the quietness of her room, she contemplated drastic measures to alleviate the agony, feeling as though chopping off her head might bring relief. It wasn't a hatred for children; it was an escape from the world she no longer understood.

She missed the joy that once accompanied winter mornings, the foggy embrace that now eluded her. Her solitude became a battleground of emotions, a silent scream echoing in her heart. Yet, no one seemed to comprehend the battles she faced within herself. Her mother dismissed her struggles as laziness and foolishness, deepening the chasm between them. Nobody can feel her pain except herself.

As the feast continued next door, the scent of prepared food permeated Cynthia's room, even behind the closed door. The laughter of children ceased momentarily as they gathered for the feast, granting her a respite from the noise that aggravated her already pounding headache. A long exhale escaped her lips, a momentary relief as she sought solace in the fleeting silence.

Her narrative unraveled within the cocoon of her solitude. Winter, her beloved season, held a bittersweet taste this year. The clash between the memories of a dreamt future and the stark reality of her present solitude weighed heavy on her heart.

In the quiet aftermath of the feast, she laid on her bed, gently stroking her head on the pillow, seeking comfort from the persistent pain. The children had quieted down, and as the aroma of the feast lingered in the air, she took in a long, calming breath. Her desire for sleep returned, a retreat into a world where the noise and expectations of others couldn't penetrate.

Winter's morning unfolded, not in grand gestures, but in the nuanced struggle of a woman caught between the echoes of the past and the silence of her present. The closed door remained a barrier against a world that misunderstood her pain, and within that solitude, she grappled with the complex interplay of dreams lost and a future uncertain.