She had almost kissed the ground. It was her first foot inside his room when an empty canister slithered across the carpet, powered by her firm heel over it. Down on one knee didn't look romantic there. Equilibrium remained one problem for her to confront throughout the life as she drew twice the volume of air into her lungs to hug the fast beating heart. Hands still on the ground, her first gaze inside the room at three feet height provoked her to single out a perfect antonym for the word "tidy" from her encephalan.
'She' stands for the girl. The girl who goes unnoticed in a train; who finds time every day to fill her bottle with boiled water and her pen with fountain ink; who completes all the half read books when given a weekend; who possesses more convolutions in her brain than the word 'possesses' itself. Or 'She' stands for that girl whom he treasures.
"Chaos" was the immediate riposte that flashed to tackle the "tidy" word although her cortex wasn't quite convinced with that antonym. Back to balance wasn't difficult then as getting up from a fall had been an accustomed exercise in her recent routine. Once on feet and a fair look around, she decided to begin from the first hurdle, 'the canister'. Not too long it took as she hunted out the thumb sized cylinder under a 2x2 table in the room corner. The seven long years of medicine had shaped her to figure it out on the first look, nevertheless her lips for once whispered the name written on the blue label; 'Asthalin'.
Wheeze. The double 'e' makes it more sw'ee't.... she thought, remembering what he told her once.
(...will wheeze)
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