"There's a heart that must be
Free to fly
To a place where I
Can be real and not conceal.

I wore a mask of
Someone that I'm not
And my identification fooled everyone
But could it change who I am
My song of life is sung
In a voice that belongs
Not to me
But my reflection
Whom I don't know.

Is it my reflection?

Must I pretend that I'm
Someone else for all the time?
Must there be a secret me
I'm forced to hide?
Why must I hurt myself
And alway lie?

When will my reflection
Show who I am?"

⊱ ───ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ─── ⊰

"Pretty lady, you're not supposed to be out here. Why are you here?"

"And who were you looking for again?" She, quite modestly, questioned the hardly built visitor, keeping her tone tough.

"The owner, owner of this orphanage. What a luck I have! Early in the morning, fate chose me for an encounter with a cheap woman!" The visitor tilted his shrivelled lips, forming a certain sly smirk that the woman had to reciprocate.

No, she's not a fighter, nor is she trying to break the glass ceiling in another male-dominated field like chemistry, law or engineering. Just by looking at her, you can tell she's quiet traditionally feminine as well but yes, she is a strong female character. Her strength, physically and emotionally, was evident in her posture. A fine lady, a very fine lady.

"How lovely your voice is, isn't it? You want the owner, don't you?"

"Absolutely! No one comes to an orphanage to meet a stripper." The visitor spat out the words like they were nothing. It was only her heart that spat on his face. Afterall, animal abuse was a crime.

"Right!" She turned around, knocked her heels on the marbled floor and turned back again, approaching the man with a brighter smile. As if she was meeting the man the first time.

"How may I help you, sir?" She interrogated, her cheer alive in her young soul.

The visitor wasn't as interested in the dainty damsel's mockery all in the morning. With a disgusted face, he asked," Bring the owner!"

"Oh, I see. I believe I should book you an opthalmologist before. I can do that at a really subsidised price, for you don't look so well off. Or perhaps, you need education facilities. Well, the owner is standing in front of you." A ghastly look formed on his face. He was talking to the only woman entrepreneur of the country after the war had seized. Had he known it before, he'd have behaved.

Her one gesture called in her favourite people, the daughters and wives of the martyred military. People called them the "7 rings" , although they weren't just 7 girls. They were a group. And rings? Supposedly useless to align with but "7" and "rings" reminded her of those 7 years she wished she could rebuild with him.

Turning around on her heels again, she left the room, declaring that a man like him could not be bestowed with the responsibility of a child. The "7 rings" pulled the huge gate shut on his face, declaring off day for the orphanage.

Taking off her dazzling jewellery and her badge, she sat in front of the mirror and smudged her makeup off to reveal those scars and dark circles that built this place. Now, it was only her and her reflection. Who could assume that a fragile girl could morph into someone so tough. Would he recognise her when he returns home? Would he know that girl inside her who speaks no more? Would he still call her his?

⊱ ───ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ─── ⊰

"The world is beautiful. All creations of this world is beautiful. Just not all eyes see it. You're beautiful. Don't panick!"

Packing my bag, I stood outside my classmate's bedroom, listening to her chant herself appreciation. I wanted to peep in but I realised that she had just bathed and might still be undressed.

I was about to walk away when the door to her room creaked and opened, revealing her in a pretty shade of yellow. Her shirt dress resembled the fiery yellow of a daffodil meadow. When I see the colour yellow, it stands out. It doesn't hide and can barely be hidden until it's already almost black and looks more brown than anything. It's an attention grabber, that's sure a much smaller reason than many would like, but a reason nonetheless.

It's the kind of colour that's exciting and loud, without being angry or overwhelming. Yellow is like feeling the warm sunshine on your skin. It tastes like putting a whole lemon in your mouth; your lips puckering up, eyes clenched, a sharp taste on your tongue, giving you goosebumps all over your arms. It's the feeling of running your hand over wild sunflowers, the petals soft, yet sturdy. It sounds like birds chirping early in the morning, singing their happy tunes. It's the music of bees buzzing plant to plant, on a warm afternoon, spreading life. Yellow is happy and peaceful. It's a type of colour that says "everything is right with the world and I am content with life".

She gently tucked a few strands of her hair behind her ears as she smiled at me. I respectfully returned her gesture when she invited me inside her room.

I walked into the room, expecting it to look something like Antonella's: clean and mysterious. However, her room was bold and wild. It was neat but not exactly clean.

"Take a seat, please." I sat on one of the outer edges of her bed and observed the variety of images the room had to offer.

Starting with the walls, the design on them was minute and intricate. With the wall, which had the window, being white; I realised the untamed lines signified the Korean folk tale of two lover: a farmer and a weaver of the constellations.

"You must be wondering about the line art, aren't you?" I nodded, partly lost, as she gently smiled. She began,

"In ancient times, women would make wishes to the stars of Vega and Altair in the sky during the festival, hoping to have a wise mind, dexterous hand in embroidery and other household tasks, and a good marriage. Vega was the weaver princess and Altair the cowherd or farmer, in some variations."

"Yes, I'm aware of that. The princess could make the seamless, softest robes from clouds. She lost her inspiration and then visited Earth where she fell in love with a commoner, praying at the tombstone of his dead parents. As time flew by, they were living happily. One day the princess went back to her home where enraged by the fact that she wasted her love on a human, her grandmother built a river of stars to separate them."

"And their love was so strong that eventually the Queen mother let them meet once a year on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month. The day of Qixi or Chinese Valentine's Day."

I nodded again. I remember my mother singing the folktale while I slept on the cradle and then as I grew up, I would want to listen to it often. The festival meant when "7", the holy Mandarin number, would coincide eachother. 7 symbolised good relationship with anything and my mum first met my dad on 7th of July. It was her lucky number.

"What is your relationship with it? You mustn't have drawn it just because you like it." I questioned.

"Of course, I haven't. My mum never knew her dad. He passed away in the war of 1950, the year she was born. Ironically, she was born on Qixi and her mother, my grandmother, believed that she was a token of their love. My mother however, lost her faith in her father. The people around her would tell her that he left her and her mother because she was a daughter. She grew up hating herself."

"Thus? Is it a tribute to your mum?"

"Kinda. I don't know what it means to me but this tale has special place in my heart. I don't know."

I felt a gloomy silence encapsulating us. There seemed a conflict between the lambent sun rays and the dreaded memories of attachment or perhaps, detachment.

"Anyways, you'll rejoin the classes, right? Let's head together, shall we?" She shook herself off, keeping her emotions asides. She picked her books up and dumped them inside her huge bag.

I nodded. Quite quietly I walked behind her. She was a butterfly in my vision, freely flying through a meadow of dandelions, for she wore yellow and the corridor was white. I might have a new scene to sketch.

She took the keys from Jimin's room, her coffee and a random packeted confectionery product, which I failed to recognise, and twirled through the garage. There stood the very new car Antonella bought Jimin so as to not induce another outburst of his anger.

I was very afraid, sincerely. I did not want to mess anything nor did I want to face him. But there I was, siting on the passenger's seat when Y/n pulled the gear and pedalled on the accelerator.

Her slender fingers clicked onto some switch on the music player and then, connecting her phone, we put on a foreign melody.

She hummed to the song. I was a music addict. I had learnt an enchanting termology for this "music addiction" but I forgot it. How unfortunate!

I knew not the lyrics, nor had I ever heard it. But I was swaying with the song. The piano that silently rang in the backdrop made me feel nostalgic. I wanted to form words to utter but I couldn't. I spoke a lot, in my mind, but that remained unheard.

"I'm an audiophile, melomaniac to be precise. What's your genre, Jk?"

My eyes turned to face her as she drove on the busy highway and sang along the chorus of the song.

Melomaniac, right! That's the word I had learnt, right.

"I... I do not have any specifications. But I think I like the sound of the piano, the violin and maybe... Gentle drums that follow along." I answered.

"Ah! Cool! Well, I love them too. But I love Indian music more than instrumental. I got that strange addiction because of Rash. Have you met her?"

"Rash? Who's that?"

"Ahh, just a calligraphy student at the uni. I met her in the youth campaign last year. She could be weird if you're not as weird yourself."

"I see. So this one's an Indian song? The only one that I know is the very overly played Tunak Tunak by... Some Punjabi singer, I guess. I heard it innumerous times in California, Indian Colonies."

"Aah, that one. That's by Daler Mehendi. And trust me, that's not all that they got, okay? They have good songs like this. Not that, that's not a good one but isn't anything special, either."

"Mhm. So, what does that mean?"

"What? Tunak Tunak?"

"No. The one you had just played."

"Oh! That's Aao Milo Chaale. It asks the female lead to follow the male lead to the end of eternity as they've already started walking their lives together. It says that there's no solutions to the problems of man if we only sit and stare. To make their unacceptable love work, they must walk along to find answers to their problems." She took the turn inside the parking lot, stoping the car for us to get down.

"So... It's like the tale of the princess and cowherd?"

"Maybe. A little, I guess."

I hummed, taking huge steps towards the uni building. She took smaller steps but walked way faster than I did. And I practically "ran" next to her to catch up her velocity.

"I wonder if I'm someone's someone."

______________________________

Hey guys!!

Me is back working on this book.
inky_jin and s_bhoomika, guys, I didn't abandon this book and I actually phased it out until... Well I get another block.