Happiness is not a goal…it’s a by-product of a life well lived.
- Eleanor Roosevelt
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Heads are turning as she glides through. She seems to walk on air. Her eyes are fixed straight ahead, blank, and unfocused.
As noiselessly as ever she sits down on her chair. Hands folded, back straight, lips pursed. A brief nod from the teacher and everyone’s attention is back again.
There is chatter all around. Some from here some from there, the students are talking, the teacher is talking but her pale thin lips remain shut. Not a word, not a whisper, not a sound she is silent.
Her bag unopened, no books on her table. However, no one bothers to tell her to do so. They are used to it.
The talking goes on. She is still sitting.
Hours pass, teachers come and go, subject’s change she is still. Silent like a porcelain doll, still like a statue she makes neither movement nor sound. Her chest is not even with breath; her fingers are not knotting themselves. With the entire din around, she is the only silent creature in the whole school.
Her expensive branded clothes form no creases, as she does not fiddle around. Her silky smooth hair left open, spread all over her arched back.
The bell rings. It is lunchtime. Everyone makes run for the doorway. She at last moves, gets up from the chair, removes her lunch bag.
Again she glides, to the cafeteria.
Everyone is eating, shouting, talking. Her lunch unpacked, she stares vacantly. Again, her posture taut, she only blinks.
A breeze blows through the windows. Her smooth curls flutter a little. However, she remains hushed.
People palpably stare at her, making questions, theories. Those in her class know that she has neither spoken nor eaten in the school since 3 years.
She might have been thrown out of the school if she did not pass with all A’s. Her silence speaks for her. Something old, something forgotten has happened. Those who know have either perished or gone away.
They did try, to revive her. Nevertheless, no effort has brought her back.
Maybe she will speak one day.
However, all hope evaporates away at one look of her. Her papery white skin, which looks like it hasn’t seen sunlight in days, her thin pale lips, look as if never used, her blank eyes, like bottomless pits.
Her appearance deceives her but it betrays the viewer only for a few moments.
After lunch, she again sits listless until the end of the day.
Finally, school is over. She gets up and leaves.
Her traces leave unanswered questions, doubts, unconfirmed theories, facts.
No one knows where she goes what she and even some who she is.
Every day she comes and sits, fading into silence.