18— A past memory.

18— A past memory.

“Hope is a natural feeling because when you have hope; you are never a prisoner to anybody.”

— Saumya Tripathi

How ironic was it to actually understand why the most dangerous place for humans was their own active minds? 

 

Wasn't it?

 

It could do both: soothe you with positive thoughts or mentally crumble you into pieces with its overthinking negative skills. It won't take much but everything out of a person that has to offer before laying them bare, empty, and insane with no sense of knowledge about their surroundings or situations. 

 

It tears you apart inside and out if you let it control you before you control it. 

 

I blinked at the view before my eyes. With my posture crouched and legs surrounded by hands, head on top of the knees, I sighed despondently. The tip of my nose felt heated. 

 

The first ray of sun beamed brightly in the firmament, spreading the dark yet light hues altogether: red, pale, and orange, mixed up distantly, making it look more beautiful and mesmerising from afar. Enthralling. Just like it was supposed to be early in the morning.

 

Sunrises and sunsets were the perfect scenes to behold because, with every new ray of the sun, comes a different experience of nature.

 

Birds were chirping in chorus; their voices were so soothing and melodious—that had me captured in their grasp of the inevitable group. I wanted to listen to them all day, if possible. Better yet, I wanted to be one of them.

 

“I wish I were a bird as free as them in the fresh air in the sky, flying above the clouds.” 

 

If only. 

 

A vase of a lone, wilting flower was set on the glass table just beside me by the floor-to-ceiling window. It was a peace lily as I recalled my mother telling me about some of the plants, one of which was the calla lily. 

 

“Spathiphyllum wallisii,” I murmured suddenly, catching the botanical name my mother had uttered when gardening when I was a child curious about everything. 

 

A lily! It's beautiful, mommy.”

 

“It is," she giggled, tapping on my nose lightly. “Just like you.”

 

I laughed. “No! It's more like you, mommy!”

 

“It is not truly a lily, but the flowers are no less resembling a calla lily. I read about them while researching the plants when I was in school.” Her sweet voice smoothed my mind when it rang in my head. “Spathe flower and cobra plant are its names, which they go by.” 

 

A slow but sure slight curve of my lips told me. I was smiling at the distant memory embellished by my mother. 

 

But the flower was wilting. 

 

Just like me—dying but slowly and unsteadily. 

 

It was the birth of another day of despondency. Just another day, I shook my head, my eyes holding sadness.

A week and a half has elapsed in a daze at a torturous pace. The time appeared to have slowed down. No one came in for the first five days. Well, not the known faces I had known since I had been brought here.

 

Five whole days went by without any human contact. No one came. Not even Sabba, Zahar, or Fatima. Not even for a moment, not even for a few seconds. Not even once. Not even him. Not like I wanted to regard him, but I wanted answers. Answers—those answers which I seemed to seek: desperately and briskly.

 

It would be the tenth day as well if no one came to visit us, albeit briefly. 

 

We were left totally alone—all together in a large, luxurious, spacious room with just the two of us inside—alone and lonely among ourselves.

 

I felt out of place.

 

Yet, we were provided with every kind of basic need we would have needed. From different types of food and milk until fresh and cleaned clothes and accessories that were given to us. We were never deprived of any things or any kind of stuff, whichever we would have needed in our daily lives. 

However, could you describe these luxuries that are being provided to you as kidnapping? 

No. 

All were provided to us without even asking for our permission, which infuriated me even more, as if I weren't kidnapped.

 

It was as if they were treating us like guests. 

I shook my head, cutting off my own thoughts. “Prisoner, huh!” My subconsciousness rebuked me. And, somewhat, I couldn't help but agree with it.

 

They were more like behaving as if we had come on vacation rather than being taken against our will.

 

That was so peculiar.

 

That even had me thinking—why would he want us here? We were not being held like prisoners. Then why?

 

Not yet, that is! I hummed. Then why? Inadvertently, my mind seemed to concur yet again.

 

On the contrary, as I had imagined, we should have been kept here, deprived of food, other substances that we needed, and other kinds of stuff; however, I had never thought that we would have been given a comfortable life. But what baffled me were:

 

What did he want from us, anyway?

 

If we are taken against our wills, then aren't we supposed to be kept as prisoners? How are we being provided with a comfy life here? Aren't we supposed to be suffering in a cellar?

 

“Why, on the contrary w—”

 

"I am glad; you both seemed healthy and well-fed." 

 

I did not acknowledge when the door opened or when he ambled in. But I jumped so abruptly at his sudden, thick accent. My head jerked in his direction on its own accord. I stared blankly. Nevertheless, my heart was erratic. As he strolled inside in long strides before closing the room door with a clicking sound, my heart was beating at any inhuman pace while I turned my face back to the window. Coming closer to the window, I was gazing outside by sitting on the floor with my knees tucked beneath my head along with my arms surrounding my legs.

 

He stood there for some time, peering. I could feel his gaze for a few seconds. I did not know where—me or around the room—since I was facing away. Upon completing his inspection before having a seat on the single sofa beside me, he sat profoundly. 

 

"How are you feeling?" He drawled with a trace of satisfaction in his voice. "I hope well. And how is the little furball doing?" He paused, “It seems like he's already asleep. Hm. My bad. I thought we could play.”

 

"Why are we here?" I asked calmly, rather. “And where is my uncle?" I demanded, still gazing out of the window at the greenery that adored the beautiful nature just outside the floor-to-ceiling window. The unparalleled beauty was beyond any appreciation.

 

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