Five

I was a child of divorce. My mother was a really ambitious woman who wanted to change this world and do something that would actually matter. But my Dad was a simple man. He believed in living one's own life and surviving in this world. Their views on living were so different than each others that they ended up getting divorced.

I lived with Dad the whole year and spent my holidays with mom in their NGO. It was an adequate sized building where many homeless women lived under the same roof.

It was that one summer when I met that strange girl. I had a month off from my college and I decided to spend this time helping Mom in her work. The signs of increasing age were visible on my mother's face and her greying hair didn't escape my notice.

When I reached the house, many women that knew me came to meet me. They all loved me like their own daughter, probably because of whatever my mom had done for them.

All the women looked happy and enthusiastic, except one. She was beautiful, like really beautiful. The combination of fiery red hair and green eyes isn't that common so that would explain why I was ogling her. It made me a little upset with my boring brown hair and brown eyes.

I went to sleep that night and the next morning, when I woke up and went to the dining area, all the women were busy talking and chatting and making jokes. There she was, sitting in a corner, staring at the small amount of untouched scrambled eggs in her plate.

"Who is she, Mum?" I asked my mother who was sitting beside me.

"Clara. She has been here for eight months."

"Why is she... Um.. Like this?" I asked about her silence, furrowing my eyebrows.

"She is just another victim of life sweetheart. We found her in a hospital after she had a miscarriage. She was alone in the world, with nobody to look after her." she said, the corners of her lips turned downwards at her sight.

"Maybe she is an orphan who grew up on streets." I said.

"I don't think so. She doesn't speak but I see a sophisticated, educated and a loved woman when I see her." Mom hypothesised.

We turned our focus back to the boiled eggs and bread in our plates but something about her worried me. The fact that in such a young age, a beautiful girl like her was wasting her life in this place, it soured my mood.

"Does she not speak at all?" I asked.

"She does reply if you ask something. But as far as initiation a conversation is conversed, I have tried but no luck." Mom answered.

My eyes once again diverted to her and her plate was still as full as it was before. I sat there even after finishing my breakfast, noticing her eating pattern but she didn't eat more than one or two bites. After everyone was placing their empty plates on the counter, I noticed how she subtly put her full plates in the heap of empty plates that nobody noticed.

...

I have been here for three days and that woman, Clara, had been a constant source of stress for me. She doesn't eat, she doesn't talk, she doesn't do anything except staring at a distance while being lost in her thoughts.

This wasn't healthy for her.

After gathering much courage one day, I finally walked to her and initiated a conversation.

"Hi." I said.

She first stared at me with confusion and after a moment, answered, "Hi."

"I'm Ava." I said, passing her a grin.

"Clara." she answered.

One thing I noticed that her eyes, although beautiful, looked really hollow. As if she was dead inside. As mom told me, losing a child must have taken a toll on her but she is so young. She has a long life ahead of her.

I tried to talk to her afterwards but she left, saying she needed it use the restroom. I though she would return but she didn't.

That night, I called Mark, my boyfriend, and told him about this new girl I have met. He himself sounded worried for her when I told her that she doesn't eat or talk to anyone.

"I think she might need therapy." Mark proposed.

"I have asked Mum. She said she had already tried asking her." I told him. We talked for a little longer about Clara after which he said he would come meet me soon.

...

The next day during breakfast, I went to sit on the empty space beside her. At first, she looked startled by my attempt of sitting with her but then she got relaxed.

When she found me staring at her uneaten plate, she took some bites.

"So how did you sleep last night?" I asked.

"Fine." she whispered.

"Do you like eggs?" I asked and she nodded.

"I don't. They make me feel weird, except boiled eggs. They are fine." I made a very pathetic attempt of conversation.

She nodded again.

"I like mayonnaise though. I can eat it with bread, bun, croissant, rice, anything. Weird? I know."

Still nothing but a nod.

I stayed there, talking like that about random things and she kept nodding. Even though she didn't talk, one good thing came out of my attempt that she completely finished her breakfast under my attentive gaze.

...

I was passing by her room when I found the door opened. She was sitting inside, reading newspaper. I went forwards and asked her if I can come inside. She nodded and I hopped beside her on the single bed.

Her eyes were fixated on the piece of newspaper and I found her hand gently grazing a certain picture. It was a picture of a man, standing beside an older man. Both had almost same features but the younger one had fuller cheeks in comparison.

"Aaron Vincent, the son of Darren Vincent has rejected the offer of his father to be the new CEO of Vincent Textile industries. He said in an interview that he is going to make his own identity in the business world and only then, he will join the company of his father."

"Wow. This man must be really dumb." I joked and suddenly, a frown appeared on her face.

"He is not dumb." she countered in an angry tone. "Making your own identity is not dumb. I think its really smart and it must took him a lot of courage to do so. Not everyone can take such decision."

My jaw hanged to the ground as I heard her talk in this defensive tone. For someone who hasn't talked for months, speaking such long sentences is extremely strange.

"Clara, do you know this man?" I asked and her face paled suddenly.

"No." she said almost immediately, obviously lying.

This raised my suspicion and I left her room. Rushing into mine, I opened my laptop and typed the name "Aaron Vicnent" in the search engine. Among all the unnecessary detail, one thing that stood out the most was the news of his marriage and how his wife ran away with his brother on his wedding night.

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