After the accident everything changed. Mom says I was in a coma for 15 days; they almost lost hope that I would wake up. She says this life is a gift; she asks me why I am sad. I don’t know why, but there is a void in my heart. I feel lonely; I feel sorrow all the time. I come to this park everyday and sit for hours; I look up at the sky, at the flowers hanging from the trees and the small fountain in the middle of the ground. I like the silence in here; I try to listen to the voice inside, try to know what I am missing. Is there something I need to know? The voice says – “yes, there are many things”. That accident took away my memories, not all, but most of them. I do recall few things at times, but my life is mostly a blank piece of paper now. I didn’t even remember my name when I woke up. “Mr. Akash Sharma” – that’s what the Doctor called me after I opened my eyes in the hospital.
Initially when Mom insisted me to come to this park, I refused. But now it has become a habit, not only because of the peace I find here sitting under this big tree, but for this girl sitting next to me – the girl with a purple flower.
She is unconventionally beautiful; when I look in her eyes, I find the same emptiness I am carrying inside. Today for the first time we are sitting on the same bench. I have been noticing her for the last 7 days; she sits on the same bench, sometimes with her friend, sometimes alone. Today as I entered the park, I saw her sitting alone and I didn’t want to lose a chance of getting to know her. It’s strange that she comes here everyday holding a purple flower in her hand, sits here exactly for an hour and then she leaves.
She is dressed in an elegant red outfit today. I like how the small black earrings, hanging from her earlobe, softly touches her neck. I must admit she’s not the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, but there’s something about her that I can’t resist; her eyes try to tell me something, or is it me who’s looking for something in them?
“Waiting for your friend?” I ask, trying to start a conversation.
She looks in my direction and nods.” Yes.” She says softly, then turns her face away.
“I see you come here everyday…with this flower in your hands…” I pause, not knowing what else to say.
“Yeah.” She says, without looking at me.
I hate this awkward silence when you have no idea what to say or ask, yet don’t want to end the conversation.
“I…” She starts speaking, then pauses; a few seconds later she adds,” …come here to meet someone. I’m looking for him. We were supposed to meet for the first time here…” she closes her eyes.
“Then?” I ask. Not that I’m interested in her story, but it’s good that we are talking.
“He didn’t come, neither did he answer my calls. I come here everyday at the same time we decided to meet…” She stops, hearing her friend calling out her name. “Shikha” – that’s her name.
“Shikha! let’s go.” Her friend holds her hand.
She gets up and says,” Bye…it was nice meeting you.” She smiles. She turns around to leave, then suddenly stops and turns back; I don’t know why she is staring blankly behind me.
“Do you know Akash Sharma? If you know him, please tell him that there’s a blind girl with a purple flower in her hands, still waiting for him in the park. He told me to bring this flower so he could identify me. Ask him if I should wait or not…”