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( mira sri acharya! )
THE AIR THRUMMED WITH JOY, A VIBRANT yellow hazy glow that pressed in on Mira, making her temples throb.
She gripped her trolley tightly, the cacophony of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.
Crowded places were a sensory assault, a kaleidoscope of conflicting feelings she struggled to decipher.
Mira could already sense the headache forming behind her eyes, sharp and dull.
She had always been able to feel what others felt, see them in glowing colours.
It came to her naturally, like breathing.
Emotions seeped into her veins, staining her blood—yellow and breezy for joy, heavy and suffocating black for fear, and a hot, explosive red for anger.
It took Mira a long time to understand that not everyone can see and feel the feelings that others feel.
And it took her an even longer time to differentiate between her feelings and others'.
The platform, 9 3/4, was overflowing with the emotions of witches and wizards seeing their children on the train, subtle blues and sunshine yellows.
Mira could spot some of her classmates milling around, chattering loudly.
Neville Longbottom with his grandmother, who seemed to be chewing his ear off, Draco Malfoy with his mother and father, the three sneering at the rather large crowd of red-headed Weasleys.
The Hogwarts Express, a scarlet steam engine, puffs thick, black-grey smoke over the platform.
"Another 'O' would have set you apart, Sri." Mira's mother said, a tight line between her eyebrows as they navigated the crowded platform. "Would've been one more 'O' than Padma's got. What was the subject you got an 'E' in again?"
"Herbology, Ma," Mira sighed, discreetly rolling her eyes.
She'd been hearing her mother complain about her results ever since she had received her report card a few weeks ago.
"Herbology!" The older woman huffed, turning to glare at her daughter. "An 'E' in Herbology!"
"It was the Mandrake, Ma. I have always hated those things," She scrunched her nose up at the thought of the plant with human-like faces for roots.
Her Mandrake had chomped her middle finger when she'd tried to replant it, so Mira hurled her gardening spade at it—earning her an ear-piercing wail in return.
Looks like Professor Sprout must've heard the wretched thing.
"Mine looked like Ira when she was a baby." Mira snorted, smirking at her younger sister. "Maybe that's why it was so annoying."
