Anamika, the nameless one-contd...
by Celin Jay
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On the second day of the week, quite out of the blue, she received a sketch of hers looking out the window, bars pressed into her cheeks and another one of hers in bridal finery. She kept them hurriedly in her satchel as her father folded his paper and kept it away in his customary style halfway through the journey. He bent down to take out a pair of crutches stowed beneath the seat and handed them over to his daughter. He waited till she was ready. Together they made their way to the nearest exit as people parted to give them way.
The portraits stopped arriving after this little incident. She waited for some days but something told her that everything was over and buried.
A month later, she stood in the balcony of her tiny bedroom. The apartment was on the top floor of a building which stood on a small hill, like a lighthouse. Below her the lights of the city twinkled. The sky was dark and laden with thick clouds. She had in her hands the multicoloured flyers from her satchel. She shredded them to bits and held out her hands. A gust of wind tentatively ruffled the offering before snatching them all and scattering them like confetti everywhere. A giant dagger of lightning blazed in front of her, as if in benediction, bathing her in blinding white in the span of a few heartbeats, followed by a deep rumble from the bowels of swollen gray clouds. The crutches in her heart and mind fell away and she felt as light as the paper bits being tossed about in the storm below. ****