Haunted

She freezes on the spot with fear. She can't move a muscle. The world seems to whirl around slowly. She shivers slightly when sweat drops erupt at the back of her nape. Her body goes icy as if someone has doused cold water on her. Whatever strength she has drains off in a moment and she can taste the bile that has risen up her throat. That's it. She would faint now or throw up, she thinks. She grips the railing along the road. Ice cold again, metallic.

She wants to run away from that girl. The girl that only she can see- grinning broadly, lost in her phone, near that same bus stand where she had stood somewhere in the past, at happier times. Happier? God no, she was the happiest back then. The ghost of that girl lurks there, quite oblivious to her.

If she doesn't run now, that ghost of the happy girl would spot her. She does not know what would happen then.
Confrontation?
Accusation?
Insinuation?

She closes her eyes tight shut.

Run! A distant voice urges her and she lifts her feet with a great difficulty.

The Gulmohor tree. Memories. Bittersweet. Again the happy girl standing there, looking far away, dressed carefully at her best, probably waiting for someone, a foot tapping on the ground covered in red petals, in a casual rhythmic way, tiptoing inbetween, biting her nails playfully, impatiently, smiling shyly to herself. The smile that spreads on the entire face, not just lips, the smile that lights up her eyes...

She can't bear the sight. She averts her eyes and hurries ahead.

She isn't angry. Not at all. Not worried. Definitely not. She is just scared. The girl follows her everywhere and she feels like a fugitive- hiding and running away from her. How would she know which places are haunted by the girl? It's like landmines, she keeps stepping on one every now and then unknowingly.

A bell rings. A temple. The last resort, the ultimate sanctuary of every living being... Marble walls, beautiful idol... A burning lamp... A soothing smell of incense sticks...

Should she? She hasn't been there for so long. She starts climbing the marble stairs.

No. No! The same girl- praying this time, eyes closed, serene smile, wishing for something that she exactly knows of,  remembers.

Tired, she slumps on the stairs. She never gets inside. What if she sees that same face in place of the God as that girl sees? What if she secretly wishes for the same thing that girl does? What if she never has a courage to be as content as the girl is?

She has trapped herself. Like a spider that spends years in weaving a beautiful web and then ends up trapped in the same.

Where could you run when even your sanctuary doesn't calm you down anymore? Besides, one cannot run away from oneself.

Differences

Prince's musings
---------------------
She was wonderful, totally weird but her weirdness always spread a smile on my face. She was a Wildflower. Her unabashed laugh sounded like a song of a playful flow of a stream. I was a Prince- shy and confined. I had fallen for her audacious craziness, her mischievous grin and her incessant blabber.

She taught me to eat on streets, something a royalty would scorn at. I forwent my royal carriage for her and with her I travelled through my wild realm I never knew existed. I walked long tiring roads with her till the pebbles and stones tore my invaluable footwear. She told me the tales I had never heard before, of flowers and fairies, of Kings and knights, of Gods and Demons and of lovers. She sang in her language I did not understand; it did not matter- she made the songs beautiful with the honesty in her beady eyes. No-one had taught her to sing. I teased her for her singsongy tone and I sang to her in my cultured refined voice just like I had been trained in my palace. I travelled in narrow lanes and unrestrained forests. She showed me beautiful flowers and the dew on their petals. She taught me laugh in a manner that could be scoffed as uncivil in the palace I came from.

With her, I was no Prince. With her, I felt free and passionate. She taught me to open my eyes and look at the world. She taught me to kiss gently. She taught me a thing or two about sadness.

Till she came, I had just been breathing. With her I lived.

I had to leave one day. I realised Wildflowers cannot decorate the palaces.

-----------------------------------------
Wildflower's musings
----------------------
He was regal, majestic and reserved. I was a wild indisciplined flower. He smiled as if he measured the inches his smile spread on his lips.

I fell for his valour and pride, his polished manners and meaningful talks. With him, I knew life is to live more than to survive. With him I had rich food and fine wine. He sang to me in his lovely trained voice that made me close my eyes and imagine dancing with him in a huge ballroom. I travelled in his royal carriage with fluffy pillows full of feathers and pristine sheets that soothed the pain that came from the thorns prickling my feet. He made me blush. With him, I knew tenderness and forgot pain.

He introduced me to relief and comforts, to faith and love. He taught me to pamper myself like the princesses do. He taught me the meaning in the silence.

With him I was no Wildflower, I was a royalty. He taught me to close my eyes and look into my own soul. He taught me to care. He taught me a thing or two about happiness.

Till he came, I had just been an insomniac. In his secure arms I found deep sleep and a lot of dreams.

He left one day. I realised Wildflowers cannot blossom in palaces.

A Penny

It's too hot around, maybe. She squirms in her bed, gets up cursing the October heat and fans herself with her hand, breathing heavily. She grabs the remote control of her AC and reduces the temperature. No, still not comfortable. She paces up and down in her room, wiping the sweat-beads off her forehead and sits at the edge of the bed, gulping down a glass of cold water. A little better now- she crawls back in her sheets. No, something pricks her back. She gropes the sheets and mattress, there is nothing that could prick. Mosquitoes maybe, she thinks.. She glances at the wall only to find the mosquito repellent plugged in to a socket. She clutches her head helplessly. She pulls a book towards her but she can't make a sense out of what she reads. Time is moving so slow, she thinks, so slow that she can hear every second that the clock is ticking away.

She glances at her phone, only to put it away.

What is it then, she asks herself annoyed.

Music? No, not a good idea at night. She hates music. It makes her vulnerable.

Maybe she should count numbers. Aaah no! Last night she counted till a thousand before she dropped the idea.

Talk to someone? To whom? There is no-one, she thinks, scrolling the contacts list in her phone up and down.

Breathless. Disturbed. Shaken. Restless. Frustrated.

She opens the locker in her steel cupboard and a chest of drawers and takes out several bundles of notes, a pocket full of coins and her gold jewellery and places on her bed. The smell of the pristine stiff currency notes, sick-sweet - tickles her nose in an almost unpleasant way. The metal of the coins is creepily cold against her sweaty skin. She traces her fingers on the gold.

All of it is mine. All this money and gold, she thinks. She doesn't feel as happy as she thought she would be. She can't smile. The hole in her heart is as empty as it was before, no matter what amount of money she has used to fill it. She counts how much money she would earn this year and the next and the year after that. Still so less, not enough, this is not enough to be able to forgive myself for the things I let people say, for the insults I endured because I didn't have money once, she cries pulling at her hair in frustration.

'Aren't you overrating money?' The Small Voice Inside Her Head asks her.

"No I am not!" she hisses angrily, "Without money, in this world you cannot even dream big. The mistake was that I always underrated it."

She spends the entire night counting money, recounting it. Every time she counts, she feels a penny is always less. One last penny that she thinks might satisfy her thirst. Always short of one penny she was, no matter how many she earned.