It took fifty seven days. Eight weeks and twenty four hours of insomnia. Forty nine million and twenty five thousand seconds of nausea and suffocation to finally come to terms with what needed to be done.
I looked around at the stretch of darkness, ever repeating, clawing into every crack and crevice it could victimize. At 4 am, even Dhaka city’s screams are muffled. At this junction of night and dawn, its heartbeat flatlines.
A sea of darkness greeted me; a familiar friend, simply garbed in different attire. It really was quite difficult to see anything. The street lights had reached their end a week back, and of course it would take months for any government branch to respond. Someone has to get hurt, killed or raped for people to begin talking.
Either that or a girl has to not wear an orna. Whichever’s convenient.
I carefully stepped onto the stone boundary of the roof.
I felt cold. My legs seemed to be freezing up; every movement I made felt unsteady. Unfocused.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Seemingly on its own, my body began dancing to some silent music. It jerked ever so slightly one way, then another.
Was this fear?
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
I hadn’t felt fear in so long. It felt…quite liberating honestly. I smiled the smallest smile. Fear would be the last thing I felt? Pathetic.
Steady. I almost lost my balance.
Breathe in, out. Breathe in, out. Breathe in, out. Breathe in-
I almost fell. I almost fell.
I had to steady myself, which I did. Unsteadily.
With each passing second, I believe I had begun feeling more and more unsure about the whole thing. But fifty seven days of being lost had led to this. Fifty seven days had paved this road for me. There was no turning back. Not now. Not after finding a light at the end of the tunnel after…after so long.