She stared in to the mirror.
Slightly lopsided, the pout. No one else saw it- the incongruence in her face. It was always too animated for anyone to see it. Specially now, when she had the dark kajal, mascara and enough redness on her lips, with her eyes full of her particular brand of naughty.
She did the slightly-titled-head look. It was her practiced look, and it made it seem like there was a sudden switch which went off in her eyes. They were suddenly bright and funny and had a tiny little spark. She sighed, and just like that the spark went out.
She did not want to use it anymore. Unless it was for him.
It made her head spin to think how rapidly she had digressed into a cliché.
In love with a man, who did not return it. Like one of those sappy women she saw on television or on twitter, constantly cribbing about not having a man in their life with friends who constantly told them how fabulous and pretty they are. Listen, she wanted to scream, if you need constant reassurance, maybe you are not that pretty. Maybe we all are not that pretty, or fabulous or amazing. We are just another one of the thousands of women like us and we are all hurtling towards a common destiny with a speed only matched by our ignorance of it.
She had let it happen to herself. Going along, thinking it was a huge joke, and she obviously had her feelings under control, and darling, who could be more cynical than me?
You cannot have a jaded love. But, apparently you could. Even at six and twenty.
Her mind said: Maybe one more swipe of the lipstick, you look a little pale there. Cover up those dark circles. Best behavior.
Her heart constantly listening for his message or a call or a text or a tweet or anything.
It’s not dark yet. But it’s getting there.