She

She was silent.

Her face reflected nothing of the pain she suffered inside.

She had always been like this.

Whenever she heard any bad news, she just kept all her emotions to herself.

She didn’t want anyone to get a hint of her feelings.

She didn’t want to aggravate their pain.

Today when her father called and told them of his illness, she was, as usual, silent.

She just prayed a silent prayer asking God to improve her father’s health and to provide her family with happiness.

She could sense the wavering tone in her mother’s voice and see the tears in her eyes.

She was trying to hide all this from her daughter, but her daughter knew everything.

Her parents were her everything and she knew them perfectly.

This was why she had been like this. She just saw everything from a distance and didn’t trespass this world in front of her.

She felt everything and, that too, deeply. She just didn’t react.

Books were her soul mate. Only her pen and paper knew her real self. No one else.

She was fortunate that she could express her feelings in ink. Those who can’t, suffer inside themselves and suffocate.

She was free.

She was independent.

She was different.

Different goals.

Different ideas.

Different opinions.

Different way of doing things.

Different reactions.

There was one thing about her that no one knew.

She was not as strong as she seemed to be.