She was as silent as those words staring from the yellowed pages, read, re-read, carried on journeys, slept with on winter nights, held through the summer evenings, saved from those drops of heaven, mixed with coffee, refugee from conversations, a window to the world, a door to self.
She was the girl with kohl-ed eyes, with a warm heart, a messed up hair do and ever so many stories that remained untold. Till the time you picked up the book, took the pain to understand the language, took the time to smell the history in those pages, to touch the soul that bled into the pages, the ink that hid the encrypted being you unraveled and let those kohl-ed eyes speak louder than they had ever screamed. They screamed silence for no words were loud enough an escape.
The silence struggled to find an echo of itself, tumultuous, scared, it ran along the streets with the other million unheard echoes, mingling with the honking, mingling into the sounds of this loud silent city.