Key To Their Hearts

14- Invitation

Just wanted to clear this out, the prices I mention in this book shouldn't be taken seriously. I have no clue how much anything costs in Indian since I don't live there. It may be annoying to some people—who live in India—to read the false prices but I promise I try to check online to give as honest and realistic costs but if I don't find any information I just wing it. So don't take it seriously, thanks!

Started Typing On – 08/05/2019

Chapter 14- Invitation

Siya's Pov:

My freedom was ticking it's way around the face of the old clock—which had to be changed since it looks lifeless, if that's even possible—just above the exit door to be welcomed by the cold wind that I could hear howling through the building, making me shiver already without being outside. So close, just ten minutes and I'm out. So close. And just like that I get a group Email sent by Mary stating all the information we may need before preparing ourselves for the work-trip.

Wait, so I have to read this before I leave? I chuckle at my own self drawing attention from the girl sitting next to me wearing a weird confused look. "Sorry--" I try to look around her messy desk and her white clean shirt for her name batch and then I realized we don't have them. Now she probably thought I was a strange girl eyeing her work space. "I just remembered a joke."

And the joke was my own question. I had no data left then why on earth did I even think of a possibility of heading home without checking this Email in hope to lay on my bed once I get home, have tea with some biscuits if I had any left, and then give it a quick peek. Stupid brain. Which reminds me, I've got eight minutes left before leaving and I better start going through the details on the large desktop screen.

So much clicking to do. I'm battling with my own-self about a very stupid thing. Is clicking around on the mouse better than writing all day? Your hands are still moving, and I know writing would hurt more than just one finger but I miss writing all day like I use to during my school life. "We are old people who like to live a simple life without a device doing our work." The truth was, my father just couldn't wrap his head around the digital screen for the first time when my brother brought one from the city, he just scowled from the side embarrassed.

I could teach you how to use it. The screen wasn't taking away my eyesight now through the bright screen effecting my eyes like any other day making me winces and shut them tightly for a few second, it just faded away, like an idea dropping with a bomb. All I saw was memory, sometimes not even see it but feel it happening around me. The echoes of a small Siya running around with her doll in her hand and chasing her brother as the long grass tickled our small feet's but didn't stop us from running and laughing and having fun.

"When you grow up, you become mature." My mother use to say. She's wrong. You don't become mature. Situation makes you mature but I just feel you become stupid. So stupid that you forget what living life is, what laughing around like little kids is. The thickness of reality squishes me between two dark, long and strong walls. One of the walls is a dream of mine of becoming independent. Delhi. Here. The other is my family, back there in the village who were showering everyone with smiles as if some burden was getting lifted off their chest.

I felt like a burden to them despite knowing how much they love me. Burden because according to the elders a daughter should get married before she's too old, or it brings trouble in future years or you'll have a hard time finding a suitable groom since everyone's into young girls—well, Nick Jonas isn't, clearly. Or if she doesn't get married she supposedly has an affair.