Bangle

She is sitting in her dormitory, staring out the window. Unaware of her surroundings. Unaware of my presence. I start to call her name but hesitate to break the silence. Cool November breeze touches her hair and I notice the moon glancing at her. I decide to stand quietly by the door and join the moon in this sight. How simple and beautiful, even her sadness. She looks down at her bangles and holds one hand in the palm of other. I dream to be those bangles on her arm that flirts with her hair when she ties them. It caresses her face when she tries to wipe those tears. The tears invoke me to inquire about her grief. I sit next to her, take her hand in mine and ask, “what’s the matter?” She looks at me and speaks softly, “look, the bangle broke.”