A desperate piece of art. A chaotic mind. A beautiful mess. Perfectly imperfect.

Yeah ,these words describe her. For she is a conflicting soul. She perhaps is perplexed and seeks the answer to her questions that seem to have resolved not to answer her. Her silence speaks of the rantings of her mind. She constantly plays with her flickering hair with her lissom fingers as she searches for herself. She has suffered. But it isn’t the suffering that bothers her. It is the eerie silence that has been left behind that madly shouts in her heart. She writes to give words to her silence. She writes to let her heart talk. She wants everything back normal. But she knows that hope is all that she has. She wants someone to care for her , to understand her, to let her rest her head on his shoulder, to see the pain within her eyes , to hear the words that she doesn’t speak.

As she writes this, gaping at the sea, the breeze snatches her paper away from her. It falls off at some distance but she walks away not picking it up.

As I hold it and read her heart that she has poured onto the paper, my eyes seek her presence. Her scent trapped in the dusty page is ravishingly beautiful and so is her soul. I want to know why she has written these words and why did she leave this paper uncared?

Will Varun ever find out the answer to his questions?