QUIET MIRACLES
“God, will life ever get better?”
She lay down on the floor of her room, her cheek planted on the cold tile, face sticky with dried-up tears. The blade of the knife in her hand was bent from the force of hitting it against the tiles. The tile had a crack, and the floor underneath was just dry sand. The sand got into her nostrils, making her want to sneeze. She lay there, waiting for some supernatural force to come and save her.
“How was the interview?”
“It went well, but I didn’t get selected.”
“Then how do you say that the interview went well?”
“I thought I spoke well.”
“Well, looks like you should have done more preparation than doing random stunts”
“I am sorry.”
“Sorry won’t get you a job.”
“I know.”
“Don’t speak up unnecessarily. Use your mouth to talk in interviews rather than talk back to us.”
Silence.
“Well, say something. We have confidence in you. You have a lot of potential. If you get over your laziness, you can conquer the moon itself.”
“Hmmm, I’ll try my best.”
“Make sure you get it the next time.”
“How’s the project going?”
“Not too well, my designs don’t work, and I don’t know what to do about it”
“If you put in effort, the design’s gonna work”
“Yeah, I’ll try”
The tile was half-chipped now, leaving behind a triangle-shaped gap on the floor, filled with just sand. The knife was more bent, almost deformed, holding on for its dear life at the handle.
She lay there, face wet with fresh tears, partially on the sand and partially on the tiles. Raindrops hit her face from the window on the opposite wall, sliding off her face, mixing with salty tears, and hitting the soil below. Her phone rang, but she was too tired to get up. She let it ring, the sound becoming a soft background noise as she slipped into a tired slumber.
She sat at her study table, looking out the window into her garden, where squirrels were playing. She had sent out her application for the “god knows what number” company. Her coffee sat there on her table, cold and untouched. She couldn’t bring herself to drink it. Every breath felt borrowed from a more deserving person. Every sip of coffee felt undeserved, like charity.
So she let it sit there undisturbed.
“Your life is going to take a dramatic turn starting from the next week,” came the voice of the Instagram astrologer. As much as she had been let down by such predictions, she saved that video, hoping this one would be different. That’s how her recent days looked: collecting every single piece of evidence that helped her summon an ounce of hope into life; hope that things would get better.
“God, I don’t think I can do this anymore. Traveling again to that place for an interview gives me anxiety. My heart is racing, my head is spinning. Please make this stop. It’s fine if I am not destined to live a long life. Please, just make this stop. It has been eight months of praying for a miracle. I am done. Let me visit you.”
Four hours of waiting made her realize that she had yet again been rejected, and it was just a matter of time before the official rejection mail came. Time to head back to life, she thought, with a numbness that had quite become a part of her life.
So when the mail stated that she had in fact qualified for the next round, she worked extra hard to keep hope under control, for hope had not given anything but heartbreak. Her nervousness peaked, her anxiety spiked, her voice trembled, but she got herself to speak in front of twenty people.
The return journey was different this time. She got it: the job. She pictured this moment a gazillion times; one of her coping mechanisms. She expected tears, euphoric moments where she jumped out of happiness, screamed her lungs out, and celebrated with pure joy. Instead, the joy that accompanied the success was quiet. It was a silent relief, a moment where her heart decided to slow down instead of speed up, and a small smile, which felt more real than anything else around her. She looked up at the night sky—the same sky that had accompanied her during her previous rejection-return journeys—and said a silent thanks to the moon. Her eyes watered, and it took all of her effort not to burst into tears.
“Well, it’s good that you have gotten a job now.”
“Yes.”
“Prepare for the upcoming offers. I knew you had it in you, but this package is not a very great one.”
“I will.”
She went to her room and quietly let out the breath she had been holding. In the middle of her room was a small plant, growing from the sand of the cracked tiles. Where the seeds came from, she didn’t know. Maybe something flew in from her garden. Maybe it was her tears watering those plants. She didn’t know if the plant had it in it to turn into a tree, but she knew now that things have a very random way of happening, and she knew that the seed’s stubbornness had made it grow. She was still afraid of fully believing in miracles, but she knew things can change at any moment.
The plant found a way to grow. Life found a way. And it did get better—not in the ways she wanted it to, but in something she didn’t expect nonetheless.
A very beautiful post
Where the seeds came from, she didn’t know. Maybe something flew in from her garden. Maybe it was her tears watering those plants. She didn’t know if the plant had it in it to turn into a tree, but she knew now that things have a very random way of happening
Amazing lineeeee💗