The nurse rushed inside the room with a doctor.They quickly injected some liquid inside me.I used to be on the peak of nervousness whenever i saw an injection but this time it did not even appear scary.The injection seemed more like a friend ,piercing me to heal me(sometimes real friends become our pain to save us from some greater pain).
I could not speak a word after that.I stared at the white ceiling without blinking (without even seeing the ceiling). I felt comfortably numb.The white ceiling had a red mark,a mark of the same red flower that was on the vase.No yellow not green but RED.I could not get a hint of what the hell was going on with red that i was unable to resist it’s view.Maybe i was suffering from erythrophobia (fear of red color) Or maybe there was a story hidden behind the red flower.The second one seemed stronger in this war zone of my thoughts.
While battling between the maybe and maybe not,a drop of tear fell from my right eye to intervene the war (like that of a referee in the WWE). I closed my eyes helping the tear escape fully from the corner of my eye(with few hope of escaping the inexpressible torture along with tears).
The pitch black darkness behind my closed eyes and me,they looked same.
“Ma” meant me and “Nishaa” meant night in nepali. So that combined to let anyone imagine of a dark night (within dark me) .Yet in that darkness ,the flower REDDENED even more gloriously.