The whimsical mirror. [H.S]

[01]

Everything is hard to explain.Whatever you say or do, no one understands it but you. People pretend they get it and that they've been there but easier said than done. Ophelia knew that perfectly well but she still tried to confide in people. She still explained herself, questioned her thoughts and overthought her actions. The voices in her head are loud; they overcome hers and blending in with others used to shut them up.

Now it's harder than ever. She can't find it in her to talk anymore because it  doesn't make a difference. Her heart feels heavy and her mind is too clouded. Words are never enough, too weak to convey emotions. She doesn't shed tears anymore which saddened her. She used to hate how much she cried but once she couldn't cry anymore, she realized how important and relieving it was for her. Now, things are piling up and she doesn't have anywhere to dump them.

Ophelia woke up early just as she does every day. She doesn't need an alarm
because by 8 a.m. sharp, her eyes are open and her day begins. Dressed in her favorite rainbow pullover and plain jeans, she checks her backpack making sure she had her personal sketchbook and a book to read because those mattered to her more than anything else. She happened to also have her class sketchbook for today's live session.

Her bus ride takes about ten minutes which is a blessing. She couldn't imagine having more time to lose her mind. However, she considered it her only chance to observe the greatest painting of life: people. An old wrinkly man sat opposite of her reading the newspaper whose white hair is proof of a life rollercoaster on the end of its ride. Next to him is a young mother whose baby has a smile to die for and a contagious laughter. Two seats in front of Ophelia, a guy pressed his headphones to his ears apparently determined to shut down the outside world on this gloomy morning and so on.

● ● ●

The mysterious headphones' guy is in Ophelia's class which is weird considering that his face didn't seem familiar to her.. It made sense though; people were a blur to her next to the endless maze of thoughts she had going on in her head, trapping her. She had very few friends whom she really trusted even though she was friendly to everyone around her. She tried to help and listen to those she cared about as she always loved to help but never be helped. She listened but no one listened enough to her. No one saw through her smile, no one really looked her in the eyes, for if they did, they would have noticed. They would have seen her lips quivering sometimes because she just wanted to cry and couldn't. They would have surely noticed her eyes glistening with tears she's trying to keep inside; or how her hand shakes sometimes and she struggles to keep it steady. They saw what they wanted to see and wasn't really there: a funny girl and a good friend.

After the end of the live session, Ophelia tried to sketch but she ended up scribbling for it helps her manage her anger issues better. She was scribbling mindlessly thinking of nothing and everything all at once until she felt a presence besides her. The headphones' guy had his eyes on her sketchbook genuinely interested in what she was doing.

"Can I have a look at it?" He asked with a shy smile.

Give it to him. It's okay if other people look at you artwork. He'll love it. Even though she was a fine arts student (because how couldn't she be, it only made sense), she still felt incredibly self-conscious because showing her class artwork was something but showing her personal pieces was something else.

DON’T. You're not that good of an artist compared to him. He will just make fun of your sketches and he will ask questions.

Do it.

DON'T.

Do it.

DO IT.

"Sure, you can." She handed him the sketchbook without meeting his eyes
still. He flipped through it for about ten minutes while remaining silent. She glanced at him quickly and found him so focused on her sketches that she felt embarrassed, but she relaxed once she saw him smile.