3 mins

Cobwebs. Half opened cartons. Dusty shelves. Broken light bulbs. Best books. Solace much? Apparently, more than the shimmering lights of the loudest disco clubs and the periodic doses of fake affection on social media. Irony much? That small attic in one shy area of the huge mansion gave what she craved almost everytime - comfort.

Being best friends with the peace of that attic was initially questioned by her family on grounds of outright escapism from the practicality of their "real world". But who knew that was the only place where her reality could breathe. The only place where the route to her dark purple bruises need not be concealed.

10 years have passed since that chirpy little girl in her early teens lost her sense of oneself. 10 years have passed since that naive girl, who found the world a little too good, lost all hopes, even from her family. Thought they cared but time and again, amidst the incessant ruckus of the house with relatives pouring in like rains on heavy monsoon days, she couldn't fathom whom to approach and ask for a remedy. The pain had been too much. And then, she found her saviour in books. Her attic.

As she sits there, alone yet complete, she traces the purple bruises which time failed to heal. She remembers the time when chocolates could make her happy anytime. And maybe, this muse brought a familiar face very close to her. A little too close, infact. And there, she sighs heavily. She recalls her younger self closing the bathroom door and crying for hours unable to find words to tell what had happened to her. Totally beyond her comprehension it was, that what was exactly her fault? Her profound love for chocolates ? Or her roaming freely in her house?

Trying hard to find an answer to the questions, months passed away. But the familiar face never made her feel alone. Never tried to leave her. Never. Succumbing to the grief, she let a year pass. Answers were still not found. Truly, grief and confusion make the worst combination ever.

Then one fine day, when she tried to open up to her mother, the familiar face caught her. She froze. Her heart racing wildly, she rushed to hide herself somewhere. Hours later, in one stray corner of the storeroom, the purple bruises were breathed to life. Till date, the storeroom bears evidence to her piteous cries.

10 years have passed. Familiar face still visits the house. He is still greeted by her. She smiles. He laughs. To everyone in the house, it is possibly the sweetest thing ever. But to her, hollowness is the most supreme emotion.

Family promises are made at the dining table, friendship ties are labelled "forever", everyone assures to be there for you but nothing remains except lies. People have everything at their disposal except the truth. Her fake smiles, cheerful face and loquacious personality offends her sad soul. Like the ambiguous colour purple which is made by combining two colours, her gloomy soul is at constant war with her vivacious personality. And these emotions rip her soul apart.

As she sits there in the attic looking at the sky, the twilight instills a belief rather a desire in her. That tomorrow, maybe someday, that lost self-esteem hugs her back. The purplish sky, offers a hope, that one day, she will find herself. Sometime soon.




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