"Life is like a rollercoaster,
it has its own ups and downs,
but it's your choice to scream or enjoy the ride...
When life's rollercoaster throws you off track, do you scream or hold on tight? For Ira and Rudraksh, the journey is far from smooth. O...
The night's velvety darkness enveloped the city, and stars twinkled like diamonds against the black canvas in the sky. The moon played a gentle game of hide-and-seek behind wispy clouds. The world was bathed in a soothing calm, with most beings lost in dreamland. Yet, one soul remained awake - Rudraksh.
Inside his room, a soothing night-blue glow emanated from a serene bulb, casting a calming ambiance. Leaning against the headboard, Rudraksh lay on his bed, his gaze wandering around the transformed space.
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The once-ravaged room, scarred by shattered mirrors, broken ceramics, and torn pictures, had been restored to pristine condition. All remnants of the past, excluding the memories that lingered, had vanished without a trace.
Rudraksh's gaze shifted inward, focusing on his own body. He lifted his bandaged right hand to eye level, examining it with a mixture of curiosity and detachment. His eyes traced the contours of the white wrapping, turning his hand palm up, then palm down, studying it from every angle. His other hand rose, fingers tenderly tracing the crisscrossed stitches above his left eyebrow. A faint hiss escaped his lips, cracking his tough facade. "Ahh...". His eyes casted down to his bandaged feet, and his breathing quickened.
Anger blazed inside his gaze, and his left fist clenched tightly, instinctively. The bandaged right fist hung useless at his side, reminding him of the past days. His face twisted, lips curling back from clenched teeth. His left fist slammed into the bedframe in a futile attempt to suppress his emotions.
🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁
The forenoon sunlight, with its gentle promise of a new day, illuminated the surroundings. But within one house, the post-morning hours had curdled into a toxic start, heavy with the pungent scent of resentment and frustration.
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Ira lay motionless, like a dead frog with three limbs splayed awkwardly and one hand clutching the pillow as if it were an inseparable lover. The warmth of her bed and the tranquility of her dreams had numbed her to the world outside.
But the illusion was shattered by the heated argument between her parents, which served as an unwelcome alarm clock. As the shouting escalated, Ira's eyelids fluttered open, her gaze blurry and disoriented. She buried her face in the pillow, clinging to the fading memories of her dream, desperate to escape the painful reality.
