As she sat and wept silent tears for a man who perhaps never gave a shit, her friend stood by, awkwardly and in awe. Not knowing how to console this inconsolable crying person, he consented to giving it a try… a sincere try.
“Please…stop crying it’s not worth it… You are so talented, amazing, beautif -“
The word got stuck in his throat at the steely piercing look he received from her just then!
” ‘Beautiful!’ Pah!” She spat.
She’d heard that enough. Enough men had wasted her because of her “beauty”. They saw nothing else.
Nothing behind a mask of pretty eye-lashes and pouty lips.
Nothing besides the small button nose and chiseled chin.
Nothing apart from a wraith like frame and willowy hair cascading down gentle, rounded shoulders.
Nothing beyond high cheekbones and soft caramel skin.
But she had had enough of that “beauty”. No, she was not going to let another person call her “beautiful”.
And she told him so, in a fiery torrent.
“Don’t call me beautiful! That’s all anyone ever sees in me! A face and nothing more! Not my heart, not my soul, not my energies. I hate it. HATE it. Why must everyone ALWAYS notice “beauty”?” she screamed out.
A long pause as she regained composure…
And then he said in his slow, warm voice…
“What made you think I was talking about your face?”
And as though, after a long bout of rain, the ray of sunshine feebly shone, a weak yet heartfelt smile lit up her tear stained face.