Taken Out

By Sanjida Sheuba

The tiklis, the churis, the six-piece set of gold that lingers from her untouched lengha.
A moment of silence of her last day of freedom, her happiness rooted in the sacrifice of everyone around her. 
Broken and completely empty. 
The decision to either destroy the reputation of her family or to get married. 
The thought of running away embroidered in her mind for the last year and a half. 
The henna stains so deeply rooted, covering the several scars and marks on her body. 
Silk rose, crystal chandeliers, her sorrows dripping down from the reflection of every light beaming on her.
Soft mellow fabric almost like the smell of the pillows she once cried on.
The sweet sound of the setted sari design being laid in the closet waiting for it to be taken out.
Her soul restless and pain left on her curly, but almost untouched hair, as every piece in her went missing.
The drip of the once soft spoken glitter that sprinkles down her spine.
Beauty that resembles everywhere apart from her eyes.
Sorrows and sadness stays with her for the next few years as she is in a soul that does not belong to her, and a home that no longer screams her name.
Nothing left to recover from, and everything seems to be hidden, not a single thing left behind.
Everything shattered all at once.