The Wings Of A Caged Bird | First Draft

chapter 20 : just another diamond day

3rd August; Monday

I wake up once again in the same bed, except this time I don't feel like I'm dying.

As I blink my vision clear, I see a faint grayish light pouring in through the window. The whole room is bathed in idle shadows, but the nature outside the window is alive in a festival of birds. So many twittering songs are merging together in a gleeful remix, an astonishing contrast to the bustling city noises of honking vehicles and pedestrian chatters that I'm used to.

I slowly push my body up to a sitting position. I glance at the clock on the other side of the room, right above the floor-length mirror. A quarter past 5 in the morning. I think I went to sleep after having lunch at around 4 pm, so I've been asleep for over half a day. I guess that's why my body feels so stiff, and my stomach is rumbling in hunger. But it's much more tolerable compared to yesterday.

I stretch my neck and arms. That's when I notice July's sketchbook lying right beside. On the corner of the white page, there's a note written.

"I'm in the living room. Drink all the water in the glass beside you."

  —July

I turn to the bedside table and find a glass of water there. I take it and drink up about half of it, the cold water affectionately nourishing my dry throat. Then I look back at the note. All the water? After checking how much is left, I finish the rest. The sensation of my stomach filling up is too similar to the one I had when I was underwater. The thought gives me the urge to spit it out, but I still gulp it down.

I then stare at the writing on the page. No more signing off with "Your July". Of course. He's no longer my July. Not after what I did yesterday.

Just the reminder of yesterday makes all the little energy left in my body flee away, and I slump back into the pillow. I still haven't apologized to him. I should've apologized yesterday, when I found him there beside the pond. But I couldn't. For the first time in my life, the apology got stuck in my throat. Is it because of the depth of my remorse, or have I just stooped down that low as a person?

At first, a part of me hoped that the conversation we had in front of the pond was enough of an indication for an apology. But that was just wishful, and also another selfish thinking. Because when I came back to the room after having lunch yesterday, I noticed July being cold to me. He didn't initiate any conversation, and replied shortly and distantly when I did it. He looked sad and drained and lost in thoughts he didn't bother to share. Whenever I got a little close to him, even accidentally, he consciously moved away.

I realized that once his initial state of self-blame passed, he finally understood how terribly I treated him earlier. Anyone with a decent amount of self-esteem won't let it pass. I'm sure he would turn back to normal the moment I apologise, but for some unknown reason, or a reason I still can't figure out, I can't seem to do it. And that makes me hate myself even more.

No, it's more like, I can apologise if I try, but it won't be sincere. And he is the last person I want to give half-hearted apologies. He will understand the fakeness of it if I do.

Getting tired of all these heavy thoughts, I sigh and stare at the window. On the days I would wake up around this hour, I would faintly hear the call of prayer from the local mosque. That's the only thing I ever noticed about dawn time in the city. But here, inside this beautiful forest, there are probably countless things to notice; the nature never runs out of topics. And yet, amidst all the turmoil in my mind, every beauty loses its appeal, every colour loses its shade, every music loses its melody. All that remains is the grayness of the world before the sun peeks out, and the resounding emptiness of this small, wooden room.