Left unopened ✨
I was placed upon a quiet shelf, left there for far too long-waiting for the day someone would choose me, read me, and cherish the story hidden within my pages. Days turned into months, and months into silence, until one day, a customer arrived, and my wait was finally over.
He took me home, yet never opened me. Instead, I was set upon a beautiful, aesthetic shelf-admired from afar, but never truly seen. Years slipped by, and I remained in the same place, untouched, unseen, yet still holding onto the fragile hope that one day, someone would read me.
Then one day, I heard hurried footsteps rushing toward me-not filled with joy, but fear. Someone picked me up at last... but not to read me. I was thrown. I hit the ground, and in that moment, I felt utterly hopeless.
Hours later, someone lifted me again. I thought I would return to the shelf, back to my silent existence. But instead, I was opened-with trembling hands and tearful eyes. Her tears fell upon my pages, leaving behind stains like scars carved from sorrow. In her frustration, she tore my pages apart and threw me out of the window.
For hours, I lay there-broken and forgotten-until someone picked me up once more. Hope flickered again within me. Perhaps now, I would finally be read.
But no... I was sold for twenty rupees.
A new owner, a new chance-or so I thought. I waited again, hoping he would read me, understand me. But instead, my pages were used to serve street food. Piece by piece, I was consumed by purpose that was never mine.
Only a few pages remained within me.
I was left on a bench, abandoned once more. Then a stack of books was placed beside me, and because of them, I fell to the ground yet again.
Suddenly, two soft, delicate hands picked me up. Hope rose within me once more. Maybe this time... maybe now...
But no.
He tore my remaining pages and folded them into a small paper aeroplane.
Now, there was no story left within me. Nothing remained for anyone to admire, nothing left to praise. My words were gone, my voice erased.
Hope no longer lived within me.
After a couple of hours, the rain began to fall-heavy, relentless. It washed over what was left of me, as if trying to erase my existence completely.
My life ended... before it ever truly began.
Yet somewhere, deep within what remained of me, a fragile thought lingered-
Maybe, one day, someone would have loved my story.
But that day... never came.
