The sleep weighed heavily on Sunita’s closed eyes as she leaned forward over her bathroom sink in the dark. The roaring cheers in the neighbours’ garden still continued well past midnight, and she could smell the heavy waft of cigarette smoke through the windows. A whimper escaped her lips as another deep pain slowly wringed through her stomach. She groaned pressing her hand against front hoping to numb the ache, and as traditional during each month she wondered how painful childbirth would be if periods alone hurt so bad. Instead she listened to the sound of the running tap as she dunked the blood stained areas of her bedsheets into the soapy water. The blood had already turned to brown like rust and refused to clear, no matter how much Sunita scrubbed. She whinged again and silently recited the lyrics of her new favourite song she had found two days ago, and proceeded to play it over and over again on an endless loop. In about a week she knew she’d be sick of it but least she had enjoyed a week of indulging. The song was in Hindi and from a film she had not seen. She didn’t understand the words or know where each word began and ended, but the foreign words coursed past her lips with ease and made her feel in touch with her roots.
After putting the slightly damp but clean sheets back on her bed, Sunita made sure she was better protected before getting in bed again. As her head hit the pillow, the tiredness dissipated, and she was left wide awake. Why did that always happen? With seemingly no will to sleep, and nothing to wake up to, she pulled off her duvet, slid her feet into her cosy slippers and left the house, phone in hand.
She wished her garden was something pretty to look at, but gardening was something she could never get into. It made it all the more depressing to see her aunt’s lush flowers next door, even at night Sunita could see the brightly tulips and chrysanthemum. For her own company she had concert and weeds.
The roads were almost silent but for one car constantly driving up and down with reckless speed. My God, Sunita thought, I have wasted my adventure days. In stories 12 – 13 seemed to be the start of adventures, when you were old enough to start doing things on your own, but young enough to be excited about growing up, the world did not scare you yet. And now Sunita was 22 and the Adventure years had come and bided farewell without leaving any memories to which she would feel excited to look back on.
Oh well, adventures may not be for everyone. Suntia sighed and slowly placed her earplugs into her ears and pressed Spotify on her phone. The empty street was suddenly the scene of a quirky indie movie. The rhythmic techno beats soothed her to close her eyes and stretch out her arms. She flicked her wrists up and down and swayed with the chorus like a robotic bird. Moving without care of who saw or if no one saw Sunita did not care, until the song ended and she opened her eyes, finding a pair staring back at her.