“Can I ask you something?” she raised her hand in her classroom that had tiny benches and desks.
“Oh, first, complete your homework and then we’ll talk,” her teacher shouted.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked as the ice cream seller gave her, her favourite chocobar.
“Come, let’s play,” her friends dragged her to the park.
“Can I ask you something?” she looked intently at the dal and rice on her plate.
“Don’t talk while you are eating,” her father scolded.
“Can I ask you something?” she played with her blanket.
“Go to bed. You have to wake up for school tomorrow,” her mother tucked her into bed.
“Can I ask you something?” she walked to the college library, now a teenager.
“Yes, we are here for you,” her friends said and walked off to the next bookshelf.
“Can I ask you something?” she typed on her mobile phone.
“I need to see your thesis,” her professor replied.
“Can I ask you something?” she stood near the cabin, decked up in formals.
“I need the presentation ASAP,” her boss walked past her.
“Can I ask you something?” she sat down with her lunchbox.
“Oh, you and your doubts,” her colleagues teased her.
“Can I ask you something?” she opened the windows for the breeze to come in.
“I don’t have time to talk,” her husband swung his bag and rushed to his car.
“Can I ask you something?” she held her shopping bag.
“Mom, you embarrass us,” her children sighed.
“Can I ask you something?” she played with the paperweight.
“Have your medicines on time,” her doctor handed her the prescription.
“Can I ask you something?” she clutched the edge of her bed.
“Here, have your breakfast,” her help set her plate.
“Can I ask you something?” she stared at the mirror.
“Yes, please,” the image in the mirror looked at her.
She touched the image, trying to remember that something.
Years and years of hearing having gotten no answers had suppressed the memory.
Her doubts had no space to survive, her questions had no way to breathe.
Her pills sat hopelessly. Her tablets rested uselessly.
They were her only companions.
“Nobody wanted to listen. Nobody had the time to listen,” she thought.
“I am willing to listen. We can go to a faraway place,” she heard a voice at the door.
She knew it would come. It had to come.
But fear then crept up inside her.
“If I stay a bit longer, somebody else might listen,” she felt.
The knocking grew louder till the door broke off the hinges.
She didn’t want to go away with the voice.
But her frail helpless body could not resist.
Her gray eyebrows frowned. Her wrinkles scowled.
Her life flashed before her, like scenes from a documentary.
Her regrets mounted on her conscience, if only someone had listened to her.
But it was her time to go, never to return.
It was time to be free from her depression, the term the world gave her condition.
If only someone had listened to her…
