Her Facebook Friend By Ifveen Chapter 36


    “Kindness is crying with someone who is crying and smiling with someone who is smiling. Kindness is


    being there for the person.”


    [Jacqueline’s Pov]


    I felt a hand on my shoulders. My sister. I turned towards her, smiled, and turned back again towards


    the window. Children were ying hide and seek. Every kid was trying their best to hide themselves


    and I felt resonated with it. Isn’t my life the same as the game of hiding and seeking? I heard my sister


    saying,


    “What’s wrong Jacqueline?” My brain replied, “Nothing.” I saw her standing numb behind me listening


    to my reply as if speechless.


    “Your eyes are red.” She sat beside me uttering those words.


    “I identally touched it with my hands after eating.”


    “Okay.” This time she didn’t utter anything at all. Just sitting in silence.


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    “Did you have Lunch?”


    “No.”


    “I didn’t either. How about I bring it here and we can have lunch together?”


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    I smiled again at myself. At least I have two people who give a damn about me.


    “Okay.”


    She stood up and left the room. I was thankful that she chose to not talk about it. Sometimes you don’t


    know what you are feeling. Sometimes if you do know, you don’t know how to exin it to people. It’s


    gambling though. Everyone would use their insecurities once they are mad at you. Or hate you.


    I kept stirring the teacup with the sp***. Looking out the window, the dawn was approaching and the


    wind from the window was enveloping me as the flowers swayed due to its pressure side by side.


    Everything was beautiful except for me. Sighing I sipped on the milk tea enjoying the warmth it brought


    me.


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    The scene of the school shed before my eyes. I spent the whole day in one of the stalls of the


    washroom waiting for the bell to ring. And when it did I left the school for home. I chose toe back in


    the taxi and not the school bus. I also had sent a text message to Remo after some time in the


    washroom.


    “Thank you, Remo. I was consumed with sadness before I heard this song. But now your beautiful


    song has consumed me like a virus.”


    I told him how his voice had yielded a fabric of love all over me, how his rhythmic flow of voice had


    managed to calm my heart. How his words had helped me to fade away some sad memories and


    brought me to a halt. How much I was thankful to him. But there was no response at least not yet. He


    must have been busy. Maybe he would have been having a bad day too like me.


    The sound of footsteps brings me back to my senses and I ce the teacup on the side. Looking back,


    I notice My sister is back with a tray of chapatis and Bean curry with chocte of Dairy Milk. I loved


    choctes as much as I loved anything. I tried to blurt out something to make her believe I was fine but


    my mouth doesn’t support me. I stood up to close the window but she stopped me and brought a small


    table towards it. cing the tray of food on it.


    I listen to her silently as she jokes about our life and then suddenly says she believes we will be fine


    one day. But I don’t shake either. I tell her I don’t believe in whether we will ever be fine.


    I chew one bite after another asionally responding to her words. Fakeughing but trying to make


    her feel I amughing in reality. The bean curry burns my tongue but I don’t wince. One after another I


    take small bites. Guilt ties to my soul, settling on me like dust does proudly. I stay silent watching as


    she furrows her ck eyes, then sighs then tries to make meugh again with a stupid joke.


    After she was done eating she realized she wouldn’t be able to make me happy so she sighs again.


    Taking the empty tes out of the room but leaving the chocte on the table.


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    I ignore the chocte and dip my head in the rock bed. I take out my journal and start writing. I like


    making cartoons of people when I am sad. But I create it only for the people I like. My list is very short


    though. Of course, my sisteres first and thenes our bus uncle. He had always been kind to


    me. Thenes Riya and then a few of the people in my neighborhood. I like writing for them too, I


    write four lines with every cartoon. Like a poem, they are not worth reading but I like doing it. It’s like an


    unopened letter to them in which I have opened my heart. They will never know about it, perhaps Nikki


    does. She knows about me doodling things on my journal but she doesn’t say anything. She lets me do


    it. It’s like my own people’s diary. I feel their kindness every time I open one page. Like our bus driver, I


    had drawn a cap on his head a b***on nose, and red lips because he likes eating Paan. Paan keeps his


    lips stained with red, it’s as if he had applied lipstick on his lips. I have drawn his ck round brows and


    then his ck eyes. He has some problems in his eyes he can not focus on one thing. Thenes his


    little protruding belly which is wrapped in a brown shirt that is cheap followed by his pants.


    He had helped me when I was having trouble reaching school. He used to wait for me for more than 15


    minutes without even knowing me despite theints from my bus mates. He hugged me once


    when I was crying. He is a great man. I haven’t written a poem for him yet because I know he will help


    me in the future too. And I don’t want to mess up my journal by changing poetry again and again. I


    would wait till the end.


    It has been weeks since I have drawn someone’s cartoon. Perhaps I only do it when I am sad and


    happy at the same time. This time, I want to draw a cartoon for Remo. The name alone brings


    calmness to me. I start from his head and then his round eyes.


    A notification made me jump from my ce and I found myself walking. I am excited to see his text


    today, why I didn’t know. But I want to know how he will respond. My fingers fight the urge to unlock the


    screen, the more I try hard the more I mess up. Atst, I opened the message.


    “I am d you liked it, Jacqueline. I am sorry you had to go through something sad. Are you okay now?


    If you are? Do you want to talk about it? It was not just a song Jacqueline, it was what Ipiled to


    make you realize you can alwayse to me if you have something that you can not take it in. I am


    here for you.”


    My heart flutters in my chest and my fingers press on his text as if believing these words wereing


    from his mouth and heart, not just his fingers.