Recited lives - Love , Fights , Fifteen

By Varshitha Chemindla

I missed my Friday morning walk. So, I decided to compensate for it with an evening walk. I left  home wearing my favourite jacket of dad’s -- it was getting cold outside. The weather made me want to go home and immerse myself in a blanket, warmly. But I continued  my walk . The visuals around made me stay a bit longer —  

A dog making his owner run behind him, making him run out of breath.

Two tiny kids playing in the grass with their father — falling, crawling, giggling.

A group of retired couples doing laughing exercises.

The smooth, gentle movement of trees, showering their flowers on a couple sitting beneath them.

That sight made me feel a strange jealousy , a sudden urge  to reconsider my decision of being single forever.

The scent of the breeze made me want to gulp it in.

As I was about to leave , my eyes caught a contrasting scene: A girl , maybe thirteen, sitting alone on a bench, shedding silent tears while watching a family walking, laughing loudly, patting each other.

My heart sank.

I walked up to her, sat beside her, and asked,

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” she replied.

“Where are your parents?” I asked, worried why she was alone, crying.

“At home.”

“Then, why are you crying here ,alone?”

“How do you know?”

“Those tears," I said softly .''I've passed that phase too.” 

Silence.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Avantika.”

“Aww, it suits you. You know... when you share your worries, they feel lighter. They become someone else's to carry too .So, why not let me worry with you ?”

She looked at me - those innocent eyes, eyelashes wet. That look reminded me of my fifteen-year-old self.

" But I don’t know you,” she said.

“ Well , You can know me now — make myself your problem sharer. I've got a big brain, you know!”

“Okay" , she whispered . "But don’t tell anyone. My mama and dada fight every day. My dad comes home drunk, and mama fights with him about drinking. They do this every day , but still tell me not to get bothered. They say, 'Focus on your studies . We'll resolve it together.' But they never find a solution. It's getting worse. First, he used to come home a little late, now sometimes mama has to go out  searching  for him  at 11 in the night. They even fight at midnight. Even during festivals , he drinks. I’ve never celebrated a single one without crying."

She paused.

"I prayed to God every day, asking him to stop them from fighting. But he never listened. I hate God now. They aren't happy with each other, but they won’t part ways. Even now, they are fighting.”

Suddenly, those falling flowers felt like dead petals in the air.

The breeze smelled of sadness.

My own tears blurred my vision.

Now my big brain didn’t seem to work.

I couldn’t find a way to console her.

I hugged her and whispered,

“It’s okay. Everything will be alright.”

I told her,

“They are not unhappy — maybe they just need some time to figure it out. Fights among partners make their bond stronger.”

I uttered every single word I hated hearing in my teenage years:

"Don’t get bothered by your parents. It’s normal. Married couples fight."

I had became the same adult I used to resent.

Just then , her mom called out for her.

She stood up and gave me  a look — the same look I used to give to adults back then.

She walked out without  a word.

All of a sudden, it started raining.

Weather is unpredictable - just like humans.

I walked home, drenched. My dad was sitting in the living room  having his tea.

He looked at me and asked, “Why didn’t you take an umbrella? And where’s my jacket?” 

“I guess I forgot it.... when I sat in the park,” I replied.

“Okay, go change, or  you’ll catch a cold.”

I left without responding.

I went straight to my mother’s photo on the wall.

All those dark moments from the past flashed in front of my eyes.

don't not make any changes . and talk whether it is okay

By Varshitha Chemindla