One evening I sat under my roof on a grey, soft couch piercing down at a book which I read slowly, mumbling the words out loud. I wore comfortable clothes, nothing fancy because I wasn’t going out but the desire to do so was still there and stronger than ever.

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As I found myself gazing out of the window, seeing the trees and birds enjoying the fresh air, with colourful flowers beneath, I thought about all the good times I had outside in the past and started crying into my book. The pages of my book went from dry to wet as my sour tears fell one by one. I couldn't hold back anymore.

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At first the memories were faded and vague. Like the ones of me going to a mall with my family to watch a movie or eat at a restaurant. I grinned but still those sour tears came falling down. As I lifted my soft hand to wipe my tears off, I couldn’t stop.  It seemed like my eyes were sprinklers turning on and off, each time harder and heavier than before. 

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After a while,  the memories became crisp and clearer. Like me wearing a black nike outfit going to my friend’s birthday and dancing, enjoying the Urdu songs even though I didn’t understand any word. Pressing sadness returned, but with a hint of longing for the feelings and emotions that couldn’t be expressed fully. I wiped my tears on the sleeve of my loose fitting shirt. It was black so no one could tell I had been crying for hours. I brought my attention back to the book, sighing as I read on.