𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐕𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐎 : 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐎𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐬

..𝐍𝐀𝐀𝐌𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍..

unwind with -  Darkhaast by Arijit Singh, Sunidhi Chauhan

I heard somewhere that our own corner of things reflect our own corner of mind.
If that’s true then mine must look like a chaotic Pinterest board desperately trying to maintain its so called aesthetic vibe.
A dainty string of fairy lights framed the edge of my desk, their golden glow glimmering like fireflies even in the daylight.
Dried and almost verge on evaporation lavender sticks poked out of a chipped ceramic mug I had bargained for more than twenty minutes just for twenty rupees.
My planner was open and its pages full of color-coded chaos and doodles of stars, moons, and flowers.
And tucked near my laptop there was a tiny glass jar held folded paper aero plane on which I dreamed my each one a wish, made silently in the quiet hours.

I was deep into an Exacel sheet, my fingers flying across the keyboard like I was handling sword and cutting each and every minutes of tension.
Hufff, flying kiss to creative mind.
Coffee sat beside me and lukewarm now forgotten as numbers and formulas held me hostage.
And then, my gaze drifted to the thread on my wrist.

Scarlet red woven with tiny beads.
A whisper of promise from yesterday wrapped around my skin.
A sigh slipped out of me.
Not the tired kind but the one that comes from the depth of heart  that one when you do not know you are holding until it floats away.
My fingers brushed the thread gently, reverently.
It still held the scent of marigold petals, turmeric, sandalwood, and laughter.

It still held the way his eyes had found mine in that room full of people.
How his hand had lingered an extra second longer on mine when the priest tied the sacred thread.
How his eyes were calm and certain that made the world hush.
I got lost in that memory like it was a song I did not want to end.

Until.
Until her voice sharp and syrupy pierced through my dream like a badly autotuned remix.

“Well, well, It is not finally rejection.”