The loudest Screams.

You came to life in my arms, Between the brown pages, blossomed from the curve of your letters and speaking to me with every flip of the page.

It’s raining and it’s dark. Here I am, sitting by the windowsill, reading in the constant blaze of lightning above. I refuse to turn on my bulbs. You come more alive in the dark than in the light. The bright sunlight in the park doesn’t spark you to life. It is the cold and dark corner of my bedroom with the dim light, lighting only one word at a time - that springs you to life.

“Who are you?” I constantly wonder.

Many times I wonder who are people, really? What are their deepest desires, their darkest secrets, their true personality, who are they if no one is watching?

But here you are - unfolding your saddest and happiest moments, your embarrassing and proud thoughts, your lies and truths, you inside and out.

I no more should wonder - ‘Who are you?’ I got to see the inside of you. But who are you in person? What facade do you put on? What mask do you wear? What beautiful face belongs to this ocean of thoughts? What hands have written these letters and words? How do your fingers hold the pen that writes the ‘y’ like it’s a woman with curves?

I have reread your 533 pages almost 533 times. Yes, I counted them.

You may think I have memorized your every word. I have. But then why do I keep coming back to it?

Because, each time I read, I find a different meaning, a different angle, a different perspective, and a different story.

Your Diary is my Bible.

Hannei, you say you are. You say you are named after the word, ‘reflection.’

But you don’t reflect me. I don’t see myself in you. I see everything, I am not in you. Everything I have never felt, everything I have never seen, Everything I have never been, Everything I have never lived.

I open a page where you talk about the rain and start reading.

‘It’s a sad day today. The sky is weeping and screaming. One must know I’m an envious woman. I even envy the sky for its boldness to cry and scream like that. Everyone thinks I do not cry, but I do cry. A lot. But no one ever knows. I even wanna scream, but my silence has always been my loudest scream. My sister loves the rai…I must stop doing this. I keep worrying and writing about others, and I forget about myself. The rain is clearing and the sky is turning orange. Twilight is coming. Orange is my favorite color. But no one knows. I remember when I was 13, I told my sister that orange is my favorite color. She laughed at me. She said orange is no one’s favorite color. I showed her the warm glow of orange at twilight. Then she said, I should go read Twilight books if I like Twilight so much. And now I am 23 and ever since, My favorite color has always been everything but orange. The best part of Twilight is not the sky itself. But it is the warmth that it shines on the world below. The green leaves of the plants have never looked so alive. The dark tar of the roads has never looked so ablaze. The soft patterns of my brother’s skin have never looked so beautiful. And I have never looked so happier. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m a sidekick to the protagonist in my own story.’

I don’t remember falling asleep. But I remember the hard texture of your diary lulling me into darkness.

“You are the story,” I tell Hannei.

The next morning, I find myself sitting in between my mom and my sister, Anne.

It’s Saturday morning at my parent’s place. Which means talking about everything under the sky and painting our nails with obnoxious colors for the ladies. The men, that is my brother, Levi and my dad have gone golfing.

My family and I, are strayed across the four corners of New York. I take the south, Anne takes the east, Levi takes the west and my parents remain in the north. Every weekend, the three of us find home at true north.

I don’t tell them about the diary. it felt too personal to tell them. But they notice something is on.

“Why is my girl so jumpy?” Mom asks me.

“Maybe, she finally found someone that pulls her.” Anne laughs.

I want to correct her that it is ‘Something’. But I stay quiet and roll my eyes at them.

Anne takes a large bag from her room. When I say large, it is almost like a barrel. I clap my hands together. It is the nail-polish time! We take our time selecting colors. Hannei’s words ring in my head. I pluck out the only orange polish from the bag and show it to them.

“I officially declare that orange is my favorite color!” I announce.

Mom raises an eyebrow because my taste goes like - pink, purple, barbie, and clueless.

Anne scoffs. She hates orange. “You are kidding me, Cass” She sneers.

The day goes on with Anne taking me to hell and back because I like orange. And the day is finally over and Orange is still my favorite color. This happened to Hannei because of her sister and I won’t let it happen to me again because of a sister.

The weekend moves away and it’s Monday morning. Once again, I find myself re-reading Hannei’s diary instead of coding. Just like I have done every day of the past week. Coding is something I love like how a neurosurgeon loves brains. But Hannei’s diary is like an insight into one.

I open a recent entry, just two days before I found her diary.

‘I don’t know what day it is today. I can’t name it as happy or sad. Today one of the best things of my life happened. I got into my dream job. Yeah, I’m pretty happy 

about that. But I look around and no one is beside me to share it with me. None in my family took it as a big deal. So what if it means working all days of the week? I love it and I will do it. I’m trying not to cry. I really do try. But it hurts so bad. I was there for my sister when everyone told her not to attend her dream school. I‘m not asking anyone to be there for me when I’m down. At least be with me when I’m up. When I’m happy.

Mom, just told, “I’m happy for you darling” and cut the call. Well, my sister…? I don’t want to talk about her. I’m never left alone, but always lonely. It’s so gloomy in the morning. It feels like even the universe is mocking me. Am I overthinking?’

I bite my lower lip until I draw blood. I can’t imagine being this alone in my life. Thank god, I have people who are there whenever I need them.

I can tell you the exact moment when I chose to find Hannei. I have read every word of the diary. There are about a hundred pages left to fill. As I skim through the pages blindly, A page has prints of some ink in between. I flip back, trying to find the page. At first, it seemed lost among the blank pages. But I flipped each page, patiently. Was I hallucinating? No, I was pretty sure, I saw. And there it was, It was just four words. But it hit hard.

It read, 'Please find me, someone.'

And that’s when I chose to find her.

I skimmed through social media. But all the profiles that matched her name didn’t match her family description.

Three hours and I still was out of luck. I sigh, defeated. I pull my legs on the table. The diary falls. The binding breaks. I curse colorfully and violently. I pick it up to fix it when a small piece of paper falls.

It is a small piece of paper with social media Ids scribbled all over. It seems like she was deciding on a username.

Hannei_Reflects?

H_123_i?

Help_me?

Find_me_please?

Alone@Hannei?

And various others.

I type all 33 of them. 10 were deleted accounts. 13 were male. 7 didn’t fit any of the descriptions about her, I could extract from the diary. 3 were left. One of them didn’t contain any posts. Just the username and an unused account. The second one was overloaded with pictures of a teenage girl. She was most of the time with her friends. The last was full posts. Not pictures of any people, but pics full of scenery, quotes, and darkest thoughts. This must be it.

I texted through DMs.

‘Hey?

Louisa here.

I found your diary.’

I don’t know, why I changed my name. I honestly don’t know. I wait for 5 minutes, 25 minutes, 33 minutes, 56 minutes, and 98 minutes until I’m reading her diary all over again.

I pick her last entry and read it.

‘Something is wrong. Today, my sister hurt me pretty badly, but it didn’t hurt. It pricked deep but did not hurt. In my bathroom, there is a mirror that I cry to. Everyone has a mirror like that, right? I stared at my face and hot blotch tears rolled down my eyes. But it did not hurt. I felt blank. More like empty.

There are so many questions, I don’t have answers to. I want answers. I want it to stop. I want everything to stop. I don’t want this world. I don’t want anything. I want silence. I want...'

Her entries end there. Her last entry was not complete. She lost her diary before she could finish it.

On the 99th min, a ping pierces the room.

I hastily unlock my PC and read it.

‘Hey, Louisa. I’m so glad you could reach me. Can we meet somewhere?’

I reply immediately.

‘Of course, The Central Park?’

‘Certainly. Would you like to meet me in an hour?’

‘Sure, how do I recognize you?’

‘I’ll be in complete black?’

‘Meet you soon.’

‘You don’t know how much this means.’

‘I do know :)’

‘Thank you.’

I run around the house in hysterics. Finally, I’m meeting her!

I’ll ask her to be my therapist.

I pull on my favorite clothes. Black boots. Pink tank top and purple skinny jeans. Custom made. You don’t get purple jeans anywhere.

I take my car keys and Of course, Hannei’s diary and drive to Central Park.

it's a dark day today. My wheels hit 80. Which is very rare. I only drive in 50s.

Hannei stands in the middle of Central Park, her back to me. And just as she said, she’s clad completely in black. She’s wearing a black hat, black hoodie, black jeans, and black boots. The dress looks

quite familiar. I tap her shoulders and she turns.

And I stand eye to eye with Anne.