Broken Hearts and Blue Veins🩵 (Part 2/5)

CHAPTER THREE: 

Three days passed since the incident took place at Lara’s house. And today, at 11 am, was the final verdict. I believe no other person was as interested as me in this case. Rumours were there that they are going to declare Lara guilty as no one else was there to suspect. They said, a teenager killed her parents as they did not allow her to party. And I knew that this was as stupid as a bag of rocks. I did not believe them. I did not want to believe them. The time was here. It was 11.30 and I was waiting for the verdict. 

And here it was. Lara was declared to be innocent. That moment felt like my own victory. Maybe it was. My victory. My instinct’s victory. I was really happy for her. I was expecting her to come out with an infinite grin on her face. But, She came out as expressionless as that day when I saw her in the prison. I was confused. She was proven innocent from a murder case. Why wasn’t she happy? 

I further tried to know what happened to her parents. A journalist gave me brief about her case. 

“Poor girl. Her father was alcoholic. He used to beat her mother frequently since she was born. He wanted a son but she could not give him one as after Lara was born, doctor said that she cannot conceive now as her uterus will not support it. That caused him to hate both Lara and her mother. He used to treat Lara as a burden since she was an infant. Lara grew up watching her father beat and curse her mother. That night when they died, Lara’s mother called her to inform that her father is very angry about Lara’s decision of studying in a prestigious university as it a waste of money. She also said that she tried convincing him a lot but she could not and he is very, very angry and will…you know…kill her. Lara was out at her friend and she immediately returned home after the call. She tried to save her mom but could not. And as his father was drunk that night, he slipped onto the table and died too. Lara was innocent.” 

23rd June, 2022 

Dear Diary, 

I was sobbing entirely when the journalist told me the truth. Literally cried at the end I can say. A sixteen years old girl, with such a traumatised childhood, is now all alone in this world. How could she be happy? And it was in that moment, I finally figured it out. Bearing pain for so long tears you apart in the most agonising ways, and just when things seem to get better, that dreadful ache comes creeping back again. But what many do not know is that a heavy heart is better than no heart at all. Maybe we are too blinded by the peace we envy in others to realise it. For now, only hope that one day everyone can get a glimpse of the sun. Hoping that Lara will also get her sun one day. I could do nothing more pray and hope for her. 

The worst part of my life wasn’t feeling their pain, the worst was, not being able to help, knowing how many souls had to suffer simply because they exist, how if they were not born here then how many hearts would have never broken. They could simply kill themselves for it, but that would break a lot of souls too. That’s why, broken people are surviving in the world, and happy people are enjoying in the world. 

Good night! 

CHAPTER FOUR: 

I am late. I am late, again for the college. I hope I don’t miss my train. I rush out of my house to catch my scheduled train like I do every day. Despite the fact that my favourite seat was not available, I will nonetheless stand today. A lady was standing across me. I kind of knew her. She travels in the same train as me, every day. But she seemed a little tensed today. I was thinking of asking her but before I could, my entire body started sweating and shaking. I usually don’t sweat but…Oh! I was feeling that lady’s pain. I started hearing her thoughts. 

“Oh God! Please help me today. I have no one except my little boy. If I lose his custody today then I will not be able to survive. I can’t let his future be ruined by letting him stay with his father. He is not a good person to raise a child. Not my child, Lord. Please.” 

A little tear came out of my left eye but I wiped it. She needed help. And I cannot help her. Because I don’t know how to. Interfering in random people’s personal matters would cause me in so much trouble. At least right now, I cannot help her. I have to go help someone else. Someone who needs my help more than her, someone who verbally shares his problems with me, someone who accepts his pain to me, un-akin these people. I look away from that lady. Two stations later, she attempts to get down from the train and her leg slips. She falls from the train and the next thing I hear about her is that she is dead. It all happened so quick that I didn’t even get a chance to know what exactly happened. She was here, a few minutes ago, stressing over her child. And now, she is there, on the floor, dead. I heard people saying that she had a heart attack. I start to feel miserable. Why didn’t I attempt to help her? To calm her? I should have told her, re-assured her that she will win her child. She will live happily with her child, forever. But I didn’t. Why didn’t I? For god’s sake. I was the only one person who was able to feel her pain. No one else knew how sad she was. She was in un-sufferable pain and no one knew but me. 

And I didn’t help her. 

I suddenly feel someone’s hand behind my back and I realised that I have been sitting on the floor and crying for five minutes straight. A lady lifted me up. I tried to hold myself up. I threw up as soon as I reached the hospital. After a few minutes alone, I started searching for Achilles. And there he sat, eyes as dead as the people around him who believed that they had no one to understand their pain and share it with, all the while not noticing him who shared it with them all along. There he was tired and lost. He understood them but who would understand him? And like that the world left its mark on yet another soul, except this one ran deeper than any before it. His grief has become a part of his face. His agony has now become a part of him. No one deserves to be in this state. At least not a person like him. Akin a little baby, he is sitting in a corner, bluetooth in his ears, must be listening to loud music; and reading something from his book. I bet he has written something new now. 

I go near him and before I call him, he says my name with undivided excitement and love. 

“Sapphira! Here you are. I have been waiting for you since a long time. You got late today. How?” I cannot make him blue by telling him about that lady from the train. So I lie. 

“Umm, nothing much, Achilles. I got, uhm, stuck in traffic.” I look at the plate beside his table and realise he has not had his lunch. He has a bandage around his neck. 

“What happened to you, Achilles? Why this bandage now?” 

“Ahh, nothing. Just routine.” 

I go and sit beside him on the floor and rest my head on his chest. I ask him, “Can you breathe okay with my head on your chest like this?” to which he replies, “It’s the only way I know how to breathe.” But what I hear is his pain, “I want to be as close to you as possible Sapphira...Because…I don’t know how many more moments I am left with, with you.” 

His mind speaks to me in the dialect of suffering. 

“Wha…What have you written this time.?” I ask. 

“Umm it’s, it’s like a short poetry.” 

“Read it to me.” 

“She was like a piece of art; 

With her rough edges and missing pieces.An intriguing soul! 

With her magnetic eyes and tempting smile, 

She dared to put her best foot forward. 

Out of the fragmented pieces of her heart, 

She had learnt how to love. 

If you listen closely, 

You could hear her soul singing. 

Singing about the wonderful and desolate, 

Singing about the real and sham 

But she made you feel, 

She made you believe, 

She made you appreciate life. 

She made you want to sing and dance, 

She made you want to laugh and cry. 

She made you want to write poetry, 

Where she was telling a story herself. 

She was a piece of art.” 

“The words are…WONDROUS, BEAUTIFUL! But how is it a poetry?” 

“Then what do you think is a poetry?” 

“I think poetry is anything that feels eternal, and, I am not eternal.” 

“Whether it’s the moon or a long walk through the forest. A midnight 

road-trip or the cycle of roses. All of it feels endless. All of it feels eternal. Even the moment when I am seeing you-it’s all poetry to me. You are poetry to me.” 

We smiled and melted into an inseparable smooch. 

Suddenly, as if fate had intervened, he clutched his chest, a look of sheer terror washing over his features. My heart skipped a beat, and time seemed to stand still. The world around us faded into the background, replaced by a sense of urgency, concern, and an unwavering need to capture this pivotal moment. He staggered, gasping for breath, his eyes darting around desperately as panic gripped his being. It was as if an invisible hand squeezed his heart, refusing to let go. The pain etched deep lines across his face, distorting the tranquillity that had adorned his features just moments before. And his head collapsed onto my shoulder.