An Opening

A widening ray of light shoots through the door as he steps in. He pauses, taking a deep breath and then keeps taking his sturdy steps forward. By his deep breath, he wants to make sure he can tackle everything successfully. John fancies himself a highly wise intelligent who has managed the challenging rigor of their life extremely well.

He had found a large mansion built in an ancient architecture where he could work while he could make himself sure it would going to be a relief to her as well, to the one who has accompanied him for years, who has been his first and perhaps last comfort.

Every single detail of that mansion is actually a piece of his pride and confidence at the moment. He had decided to solve the problem on his own however he used to tell her “No one but yourself can help you out of it.”

He is fussing about the surroundings. He is a physician, a real physician who wants to treat her nervous depression by exercises and other prescriptions. He wished she could embrace the green garden and the upstairs room. John wants her to forget about everything that has overwhelmed her for a while- everything he could not apprehend even a word out of it. 

She is dealing with it constantly, feeling it on every single cell of her skin all the time. Her fingertips touch only the gloomy side of objects around her. She wakes up through it, her eyes adjust to the morning light in its company, in front of the yellowish wall, and she goes to the bed hand in hand with it. Yes! it is the black shadow of depression.

She thinks the house was secured at a weirdly cheap price. She feels something queer is hung over the air inside. “Dear! there is nothing wrong with this place, we were just being so lucky to get it!” he says.  She stares at him through a long silence. She knows she is not expected to do anything. She is forbidden from working, specifically writing. Whenever she wants to initiate a conversion about her feelings, whenever she feels she just wants to speak of pain, he makes an end of it with few convincing words which merely invite her to silence. He leaves her with the sense of incompleteness, words lingering behind her teeth, stacking her mind. No one understands the meaningfulness behind the silence coming afterward the conversations but them. He is aware of what he is damping down and he avoids encountering her temperament.

The yellowish wall and its patterns are now the main part of her daily life, perhaps when John is not there.