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TWO YEARS LATER •

• TWO YEARS LATER •

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P U N E


I've never hated anyone the way I hate the person who saved my life.

They caught me when I was finally setting myself free, when I was bleeding to death.

While the pain would have been brutal, at least all of it would have ended. At least I didn't have to wake up each day to face reality.

I think about it every single night and tonight is no different.

Here I am, lying on my back on the cold marble floor of this empty, locked and dusty library, feeling completely exhausted.

My eyes were glued to the damp ceiling. The paint was peeling off and a crack was snaked across it from which the water was dripping.

First drop, second drop, third drop – each one a cool kiss on my forehead. I closed my eyes, welcoming the sensation.

The library was quiet now, but not a few minutes ago. Few minutes ago a girl’s sob echoed here. It was so loud that it choked her breath. She often comes here, to let it all out, to cry until she can't cry anymore, to feel the pain until her body goes numb.

I feel bad for her.

She… doesn't deserve this.

I turned to my right as I pulled my legs against my chest and buried my face in between them.

A fresh wave of tears welled up, tracing hot paths down my dried cheeks as my hair clung to my damp skin. Silent sobs wracked my body, and each sob felt like a punch to the gut.

Now those water droplets were falling on the floor. I could hear the echoing sound they made.

When? When will it end?

I keep asking myself, as my nails dug into the back of my hand.

It's been two years of this endless pain, this relentless suffering and nothing has changed. My fists were clenched so tight that my knuckles turned white.

Three hours. I'd been huddled in that corner for three hours. An improvement, considering the last time it was four.

"Get a grip," I muttered, wiping tears that refused to stay put. It was time to head back to the hostel.

I sat and looked around. My things were all over the floor. I picked up my bag and gathered my things.

As I picked up my dairy, a crumpled pink piece of paper fell out of it.

A knot formed in my stomach. It was a note. The one I'd crumpled in a fit of rage, the one that I found today. The one that started it all.

I loathed at the sight of it.

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