Everything is simply black and white to her. From the blue sky to the white clouds and from the yellow sunflowers to the red gulmohars, she doesn’t know any difference.
Colour blindness. Something that could make a 10 million coloured world, a monochromatic film.
But, she knew the sky is angry when the winds prickled her skin with cold.
She could see the fluffy white clouds floating in sky all day long.
She loved sunflowers. Not for its colour, but for the vibe she got from it.
And as of gulmohars, she remembered the long summer afternoons and evenings spent talking, laughing, teasing, loving all the perfect flaws in him.
Even today, when she closes her eyes, she can only see his eyes staring back right at her with hope, mischief and warmth; and that one thing she always wanted to tell him, but she didn’t know how.
That, his eyes reflected light from the stars twinkling in far away galaxies.
Or his eyes are the leaves in autumn; crisp. Or like the earth after first rain, fresh. Or like the fire warming you up on a snowy day, cosy.
But, then, how could a colour blind girl feel so much for a boy with eyes which couldn’t be spellbounded in a word, tamed into rhymed phrases and described as merely as beautiful?
Yet, she could see colour in his eyes each time he looked at her and then the sky looked bluer, the clouds whiter, the sunflowers yellower and the gulmohars, redder than ever.
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