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She sat by the window the whole night, watching the sky turning from pitch dark to grey to maroonish orange. Her eyes were dry. Stark. She knew it’s a bad omen. Tears mean hurt. Arid eyes mean hurt that went too deep to induce tears- like a bullet that goes so deep in your innards that no blood comes out. She could feel the shadow of dead in her eyes. Few months had given her a lifetime of memories. She wondered whether that’s what they would remain now-memories. A ghost of what it was and never could be. She felt cold, in the midst of a very hot spring! She wanted to think but couldn’t. She wanted to talk, to tell somebody what she was feeling. She thought that would take some part of the pain away. Talking about it. It’s like letting your dense pain out in the thin air through words, so that it gets diluted. But there was nobody she could turn to. The clouds were dark and there was no sun. She knew she needed courage and conviction and above all, a clear understanding. Instead, she had got confusion, and cowardice. And like every coward, she wished for some divine help, knowing full well there would be none…

And like her story, it’s incomplete….