Writer's Journey

Prologue

"'The last words on the piece of paper don't make sense', he thought to himself. He watched as her abnormally still hanging body dangled back and forth. Her eyes..." 

                                                                             Robin got up from his messy bed to open the door for his roommate. As his friend entered the room he got out. But he wasn't just going out of his room, he was also trying to escape the world created in his book. The sad truth of Sakshi dying had ruined his day. " She is just a character", he tried to convince himself but at his heart, he knew who Sakshi was or at the very least who she was inspired from. The unanswered question Ravi had for Sakshi reminded him of the unanswered questions he had for his Sakshi. The questions he had forgotten for so long were brought up again by Sakshi's death. She had come back in the form of Sakshi to haunt him again. He walked up the staircase to the terrace. 

                                                                        The terrace was filled with hanging clothes left to dry and corpses of the smoked cigarettes just left there unattained. From the terrace, he looked down at the dark and unforgiving city of Kathmandu. The capital was coming to a pause. The sound of car horns and noises for houses were loud but not loud enough to suppress the now awakened feelings from his heart. He remembered the day he had left his parent's house, his birthplace and his past to come to the capital and pursue his dream. His dream of changing the world with his pen and now he thought to himself " And now look at me, why are my dream not able to satisfy it, why is my struggle not able to satisfy it, why is it that this book always has to ask for those parts of me, bringing up those unanswered questions again, forcing me down that rabbit hole again." "Why?" This time he shouted but his cries were suppressed by the noise of the capital. 

                                                                           Iron rods sticking out of the terrace was a common scene of architecture in the capital. Those ugly red rusted rods waiting for the owner to make enough money to add another floor. This reminded him of his unfinished book and so he pulled out a cigarette placed in his mouth and sat down he knew he had to get back to the book. As he was about to light the cigarette he remembered something. Today was 13 June. He had been so engaged in his writing since morning that he had forgotten what day it was. "How could I forget," he thought. " Why should I remember," he thought again. He was in this constant dilemma of forgetting and remembering her. Her memories comforted but her thoughts haunted him. Her smile was the only thing that would help him sleep sometimes but her decisions were sometimes the only things that kept him up at night. He tried to cry but he couldn't. He was spanned back to reality as the first bits of raindrops hit his body. He ran towards the door and down the staircase slowly slowing down his pace. He reached the door and gave a knock. His room-mate opened the door. He had warmed the food from the morning and had placed two plates on the floor. Both of them ate in silence, washed their hand in the plates themselves, set them aside and climbed their respective beds. Robin hit the light and climbed up the bed when his friend asked: " Thinking about her again?".

                                                                        " No" Robin replied. "Just forget about her," his friend said as they both slipped into their own bed. Robin knew it was going to be a long night.