- whimsy: storyteller -

waiting

๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ญ๐˜ข๐˜ด๐˜ต ๐˜ฅ๐˜ข๐˜บ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ง ๐˜ญ๐˜ฐ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ
๐˜ฎ๐˜บ ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ต ๐˜ค๐˜ณ๐˜ข๐˜ค๐˜ฌ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ฅ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฎ๐˜บ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฅ๐˜บ
~๐˜ณ๐˜ถ๐˜ฑ๐˜ช ๐˜ฌ๐˜ข๐˜ถ๐˜ณ

She stood in the rain. Little droplets of water drenched her hair, her skin and her dress. With time, the droplets became larger and the rain fell more heavily.

She was waiting for him.

Soon, the sprinkling turned into a torrential downpour. The rain hit her skin โ€“ hard. Water bathed the streets, the tress, the cars, the homes even the houses washing away all the dust of yesterday. Beneath the sound of the city traffic, she couldnโ€™t hear her own footsteps. She felt numb. So numb, that she couldnโ€™t feel the cold water splashed on her new dress, which she managed to afford after months and months of eating instant noodles. So numb, that she couldnโ€™t feel the cold bitter wind that ruined her hair; the hair, on which she had spent more than an hour. So numb, that the pitter-patter of the rain, the relentless honking of cars, and the howling of winds couldnโ€™t wake her, couldn’t move her.

Just a month ago, the prospect of being with him scared her. Terrified her. Now, nothing appealed to her more. As the night sky began to lighten, and the city started to wake up, and the streets passed in a frigid blur, she held her phone close to her heart, hoping to hear that special ringtone one last time. Hear that voice one last time. Savour his sarcastic texts one last time. But the phone never vibrated, and the tone…it was lost. It was forgotten. But not dead. Alive, but… buried.

And as the city woke up to a new day, full of life and hope, she didnโ€™t head home.

Instead, she headed to a place where only the dead dwelled.

She waited and waited. And waited. And waited.

He never showed up.

~Ashmita


64 thoughts on “waiting

  1. We all do
    one day
    after a day
    after an event
    that after us
    a farewell
    our heart gets so cold
    that it breaks

    We must the
    shards
    in our own mine
    take in hand
    don’t throw us on the street
    with grief and horror

    ps. rarely such a wonderful story
    read from them

    ~ ๐˜ณ๐˜ถ๐˜ฑ๐˜ช ๐˜ฌ๐˜ข๐˜ถ๐˜ณ
    On the last day of
    My heart broke
    in my mine

    Liked by 1 person

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