|Innaya|
"I'm tired," Eshan said those words before he placed his head beside my right hand, and closed his eyes.
I stared incredulously at him.
Did he just leave me hanging like that?
In my childhood, I would hide under the covers so that my mother and grandmother would not ask me questions about my nightmares. I would run away from them if they brought up the topic of the man who had made my life a living nightmare.
I hated confrontations, and I hated conversations.
Maybe, from that time, I had developed the habit of keeping things to myself. Talking to someone, describing my emotions, often felt like an enormous task from which I always ran away. Even with grandpa, there were many things I did not voice out in the fear of disgusting him with my scars.
