Anna

A book, a slim orange book had written about the smiles of children, especially children from the third world and other supposedly impoverished nations. The smile was from the heart was what they said, but the heart that differs from one to one should indeed be more discrete, I would think. I am nobody. I dream like a nobody. I live like a nobody. Your attention will most probably begin to wane, at this point, but let me assure you this story is not about a nobody and neither is it about me or love or friendship as most stories go,

I was but an observer to the most spectacular turn of events, events that would render you speechless, mute with disbelief if you had understood them in its entirety, haphazard accidental glances in the mirror still makes me blink in disbelief and I shake my head bemused, at me and the world. The day I met Anna was the day I died. I died like a nobody at an intersection, faded with people and relentless pace; I died nameless on a street nameless to a car as common as the sills on the windows, I died. Anna was born the day I died.

Babies are born special. They are born with wisdom and knowledge infinite, which they spend their whole human lives unlearning. The heart smiles at the promise with each birth of a new child, in desperate hope that maybe this child would remember the stories, the heart has lived and loved. Anna was born awake, wide, fringed chocolate eyes that stared into you; they blinked ever so rarely, as if a whisper had been ever so important. Everything about her was quiet. She rarely spoke preferring to watch from a distance, with such indifference as the stars may posses every night. She watched with indifference as her father left and watched with indifference as a new man came. Anna, unlike me, was not a nobody. She grew up aware of what was expected and what was possible. The beings celestial and others, watched her wary, convinced of the extra ordinary stories hers was to be. The heart smiled to itself convinced that the wait was over and yet Anna, quiet, watchful Anna said nothing and just smiled. She was a breeze, a heady, dizzying breeze that drew people to her till they shuddered and blinked with eerie, delightful surprise; reason prevailed and they promptly forgot why for an instant, for a moment, a girl of average height and indistinguishable features was the most bewitching sight they had ever seen. To you, who might have been following my story or rather her story most earnestly, might ask what about her eyes; her eyes were indeed everything said and more but her eyes were seen by few and told by fewer. Her eyes was her secret, she learned to care for early on. The demands were never ceasing as the people flocked to her, thronged to her, demanding to be loved to be seen by those eyes. She tried as hard as she could, with all her will and being and more but the demands were too many and as much as she saw, the lesser she was seen, and then she blinked and the eyes were hidden. She waited calm and quiet for the world to surprise her and then she met me.

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