The Hidden Woman

Staring at her face in the full length mirror with a blank face, looking at her features, she tilted her head then slowly lowered her gaze to check out her body. She stood there in a silk black long dress, which fit perfectly on her curvy body. Backless, deep cut in the front, a slit from the thigh, showing off her skin just a bit but enough to make a man go insane. The dress screamed dominance, though it was very simple yet elegant. She lets a slow smile form on her face, one that doesn't reach her eyes, and suddenly looks up. In a blink of an eye, she picked up the flower vase and threw it in the mirror with great force. She didn't flinched- didn't need to. She let out a shaky breathe with a small smirk and dark eyes. Looking down, she saw her, once favourite, flowers scattered all around the marble floor with the mirror glass pieces. She stepped forward, letting the flowers crushed beneath the long length of her heels. She bent down, very elegantly, but keeps on smiling while picking up the pieces of the broken mirror recklessly while humming softly and letting it cut through the hand, as if nothing really happened. Or rather, it doesn't matter.

It's her. Vaishnavi Konda. Just a south Indian girl, who they broke even before she understands the word 'life' and a story of her building her own world, strong and independent with unwavering confidence.

"Try me if you dare and I'll give you just 1 reason why not to, enough to make you lower your eyes whenever you see me pass by."

"I don't try, I live it."

"Fear? That's funny. I don't have that in my dictionary."

"Crying is a waste of time.
Feelings are just a show.
And life? Is stupid."