Last Twelve Hours

Every time she 'd walk into her classroom, the irrational fear of being truly seen would hit her anew- fear that someone would see past her childlike face and behavior and see the twisted reality of her existence. It would cripple Kritika for five whole seconds, making her stop at the threshold and stare blankly into space while rest of world went on functioning.

Then she would shake her head and choose with utter caution, a seat that was neither too much at the back of the class nor too close to the teacher's podium. Once seated, she would turn right and look at a group of her "sort of, kind of" friends chatting. She'd wonder with a sense of self depreciation, why they never initiated a conversation with her.

Shaking her head again, she would get up and try to take part in a discussion she knew nothing of. When the bell would ring, she'd sigh with relief. It would last for a few more minutes before she'd remember she hated Chemistry. Forty minutes of torture would pass by in a dazed state, parts of which she would remember and parts she would forget.

By the time recess would roll around, she would yet again be left alone for five minutes- staring absently at some classmates who would give her weird looks she'd pretend she didn't notice. Then her actual friends would come in- Aakash, Shreyansh and Sindhu. She'd again find herself jealous of the naïve romance between the latter two, wondering why she was too cynic to feel anything as innocent.

She'd talk to Akash, while the couple would be busy in their own thing and a sense of self hatred would fill her when she'd reminisce about the time when Sindhu wasn't in the picture and the two guys showered all the attention on her. She'd push the negativity deep inside and make the three laugh-- according to them, she was great at situational comedy.

It would be a while after they'd leave that she'd notice how her face hurt from grinning too widely.

Maths would come with a mind numbing calm. She'd again find it impossible to solve simple sums that didn't take even a whole minute to be solved when she was home.

Still, she'd try and find that if she didn't show her answers to the teacher, her speed automatically increased. By the time school ended, she'd be restless to get on with her plans, having laughed to her limit with her friends who prepared to part ways in front of school block so they could all get on with their respective lives.

She'd hug a surprised Sindhu who would give her a worried glance. A wide smile and the worry would be wiped away. She would remind Shreyansh not to hurt Sindhu, telling him just how the girl had a tendency to leap heart first. Her threat would be taken by an amused Shreyansh with full seriousness.

Aakash, the guy who had a crush on her for quite a while, would be gently reminded that she, Kritika Chaturvedi, was incapable of feeling too deep. Although in total disagreement inside, he would nod to appease her. Burying her instinct to hug him, lest it send a hurtfully wrong message, she would walk inside her bus. In the bus, she would narrate to a couple of other students a story she had written when younger.

With sarcastic quips and humorous anecdotes at all the right places, she would laugh alongside the students whose name she had forgotten just after the first introduction three weeks back. She would come back home to finish Twisted Together by Pepper Winters, her heart aching at the dark light she found so relatable.

She would wish again that hell had a library because that is where she was going.

Her father would come home early and she'd hurry out to greet him after hiding her e-reader. He'd be holding a school belt in his hand, hers. She'd remember with shock that she forgotten to keep it in its correct place, inside her wardrobe. Her father hated carelessness.

Thirty minutes later, she would lock herself in bathroom-hating herself for being weak again and begging Him again to forgive her. She knew it never helped.

It hadn't when, at the age of fourteen, she had crawled on her knees, begging him to not tear her first self-written novel apart because she'd scored only twenty two out of twenty five in a test. It hadn't when, a year later, she'd begged him to not cut her hair off because, supposedly, she was trying to lure in guys.

She would try to look at the welts on her back from the spots where her belt buckle had hit too hard. Instead, her eyes would go to the bottle of toilet cleaner under the sink and the knife she'd put in the toothbrush stand.

She would gulp, trying to rethink her decision but no reason would come her that would justify her forfeiting the plan that she took a month to harden herself for.

Three hours later, the ambulance's siren would enter the gated society while she'd look on in her ethereal form as her body took its last breath.

She would be sucked back into the moment exactly twelve hours before then, at the door of her classroom. And the story would begin to end. Again and again and again.

P.C.---> ids.org