Welcome to the Gym: Time Slows Down Near Heavy Objects 🫀💪🏋🏻‍♂️

Harry and Ginny don't seem well together- A nightmare for Potterheads - dreams have the best headlines when we doze off reading a good book while scrolling the dua app.

Skipping phone's alarm while switching off an alarm clock is a peaceful way of denying technology in minute ways. Still the phone's notifications make way to stab our eyes. 

Word of the day - kharisma. 

Mobile takes no days off. Too bright to view screen for an early morning while the moon is still visible. Charisma is old kharisma, it doesn't change its essence - the meaning. Same with human beings. They're always the same, unless the stone heart recieves some miraculous rain shower. 🌧️ 🫀

“How can I accept a person that has a stone instead of a heart?" The bathroom mirror stays broken with layers of stickers. Sophia hates the face that holds beards and buises. 

“I don't have time for ugly thoughts in the morning.” Pushing brushing to limits releasing blood from mouth is daily breakfast of exercise. The human body is numb to happiness yet never to grief. The wound may heal, the scars intact with regret, no matter how much you scrub it off. 

The freedom lies in the chirp of birds while watching the sky from murky blue to light entering the horizon.  

Crossfit Gym 🏋‍♀️💪

Breathless noises, mukky sweats, and music of machines sound like wind crime after fajr namaz.

Reaching the gym means a sense of joy to health, and a body sick of being sick. 

The mirror doesn't reflect my blue tracksuit and tiny mole next to my nose, it reflects my regrets. Clearly unlike the smudged memory. 🪟🪞

‘But he was so kind earlier.’

‘No, he wasn't.’

How to understand. I should call Shally to understand. 

An echo gave my left hands some new cramp. 

"Dil hote jo mere seene me do, dusra dil bhi…"

Flipped the phone kept on the next treadmill before punching the heavy bag in the gym. The stare in the mirror couldn't control stares at such sudden agitation. 

‘I get a shivering sensation when this kind of songappears.’ I sat on the floor, the water smeared all over. Accidently, it rolled while I sneaked to hide dryness of mouth during a sudden episode of anxiety. Ayushi handed over her bottle making sure I was better. I've never thought in my school years how miraculously I will meet my idol again. The people at the gym are kind and understanding.  They never brought up this conversation. 

The mirror reflection is back with an image of a man with an untidy hairstyle smeared with smelly gel. The expensive clothes odour on his personality. 

‘when did he become a monster?’

‘how would I know?’

It is very easy. The conclusion is - he never was a good person, exactly like the jackal from, ‘blue jackal story.’ Once he fell into the colour of a blue pond, pretended to be unique till praised. 

“Society matters a lot to me, Sophia. Of all the people you could have atleast known.” The noise of his voice still bring shivers down the spine. 

Didn't a grotesque picture of a person come in our head with zero humane characteristics yet eyes listing greed and power? Of course! Not of a jackal; but some John doe. The laughable matter is that some resembled themselves in the previous paragraph. 

We are all living stories. The face I painted in my words have played a crucial part in our lives. Characters are polished so well that we fear with tears in our eyes, while the smile fades in the similar way as the lights go off in the movie theatre during the beginning of a movie - all of a sudden, it is so murky except for the screen of our consciousness. 

I cover my face head to toe while sleeping because I fear the monster with 32 teeth and some wires at the back of premolars. His tongue was colder than his heart - the bite tasted blood, experience, and lust. The lights are switched off without any warmth because of the eyes that howl just another prey. The horror of settled intimacy - one for love, another for list. The body count for gym disciples,  tinder people, and serial killers have stark differences like the pronunciation of unionized to chemistry geeks and chemists. 

“Sofia, how long will you hold onto it.”

How do I inform them I'm not holding on, I'm rotting and stuck in the back of medulla oblongata. Screaming couldn't help anybody in this part of experienced imagination.  

Some rot of being raped at the age of eight, some  at the abuse of parents reflection poured withinin themselves, of stolen teenage, some, at the luxury of bubbles, I rot in the midst of yellow kurta and the roughly chapped lips. 🫀

‘what are you reading these days?’  morning voice of Yahyah sounds like calm in the midst of ocean.

‘Catch 22 by Joseph Heller.’ a rough tone of Sophia unwelcoming the conversation. 

‘I didn't know you were interested in wars.’ The tone ended like musical note. 

The mirror regret seems more interesting than a scenic reality now for Sophia. 

I stayed silent like Yahyah is silent during our conversations. 

‘Do you have burnt scars on your left forearm?’

‘It must be disgusting just like your stretch marks on your both arms.’

‘Welcome to the club, cuckoo.’

Our Rude behavior is directly proportional to one incident that changes our mindset from divine to devil multiplying it by our choice. 

Another story inside the story. 

I loved stretch marks once, but, the person held leeches inside them that lurked on me disguised as comfortable hugs. The leeches ferment just like the memories with the idea of cars with binary calculation irks my anxiety.  

I flinched in the middle of the road last friday when Yahyah got hurt while Pulling his bicycle and me at the same moment. A small incident - a chain of gratitude for lifetime. He doesn't know my diary knows him as Guardian angel. The gym mates think exactly opposite. I no longer look at men with hope of finding a prince charming from books, as reality ends with beasts as men. My fairy tale is scary. 

Gym mirror again. The questions flooded, stained with smile. 

Was he really a monster?

Or The monster is within me filing him as this?

Or the monster is hopeful lies he filled within me? 

Doing extreme exercises will only exhaust the heart and body. To stab the monster, the limit crossed till the hands bled, thigh muscles tore, and the clothes drenched sweat of regret. Sounds like forcible rape; enjoyable pysical intimacy; or the murder of an old foe with a sweet revenge.

The sound of thunder outside resonates the sound of heart pacing at an extra mile while being at the gym and bygone places. People lie off for reading books, enjoying meals, and being friends because they don't want to feel like an outcast. They lie either to fit in, or to be the parasite to survive another day for a new experience. 

The chilling part is that human beings can go to extremes for their enjoyment. Look at the pimp industry growing, along with onlyfans- a digital prostitute club. 👣

I'll place some experienced examples in the brittle bottle of words thrown for help in the helping sea - A sea of collapsed mind. 

Prajakta Kohli an extremely popular instagram influencer told how Harry Potter should not have ended with Ginny Weasley. The bibliophiles caught her off guard and she never apologized. A fake charisma along with ant followers. I love ants, just as an example of how humans see the line of ants is fascinating, till it reveals how it follows the lump of cold flesh. 

I love you and I'll marry you but I'll have sex with multiple women - the understanding lover turned out to be a malicious monster with multiple accounts on dating and mating apps. Words and actions mean nothing to people who use mankind as tissue paper. Yahi to zindagi hai. The true monster isn't purple, green or blue with a gloated  head and pointy teeth, but a man or woman with a YOLO profile with a decent family picture. A trap to lure untamed prey. 

The gym isn't the best place to find love, hence, the gym is where one goes - shutting down the chaos of the world. Change the lyrics to change the mindset. The flashbacks should be kicked right at the face with a pocketful of truth bombs, that settles the pain to pose with few peaceful tombstone at the countryside. Perhaps, better graveyards are in the heart of people dimming light of life in others. 

Returning back home with more surviving skills Sophia feels calm as the lane has wild bushes and flowers.  We all win battles losing ourselves everyday. 

“I've boiled chicken for you to eat, your face looks purple and bruises on your hands must be hurting.” Ammi's worries make eyes wet.  A little shower, twenty four more pages from War Literature, three extra witr namaz, and deep soaked eyes with pinching pain meet the ceilings till the view turns blurred. 

Trauma has no escape route, human beings are forced to fit in. They live a little in the waves of fears, tears, and flinching acts - infinitely little. The morning and evening was stitched with busy schedule of Dunya. 

Wide awake, next day. 

Flowers bloom with the sunrise inviting another day of joy. It seems appealing in the comics and colour pallette of the movie. The cycle walks, leaps, leans, leads, and turns to reach the destination personating human idle lives. Some are fascinated by witnessing the morning sky, some vomit to the sound of morning gargles, some try to repair the sole of old shoes, while I pretend not to witness the smiling Yahyah with a calm salam, gently closing the main gate accompanying me to the gym. 

“Sofia…” Yahyah brought a protein Bar. Flinched at the idea of nicely made hair, and a welcoming smile. The smile triggers the trust.

“I don't believe in the idea of becoming strangers at the same place, let distance maintain a handsome mindset in this part of my life.” Her interruption is a dark box of Schizophrenia.

“I wish to understand the scenarios of mirrors you witness here everyday.” the whisper went down the stinky drain of lost War. 

Yahyah marched to battle ropes near the other end, while Sofia trembled at the cardiovascular endurance during anxiety in the middle of a room uplifting the confidence and health. The Elliptical Machine stays intact like her journey in the last few years- dusted, polished, still at the same place. 

Some stories end up before the start, 

Some start at the end.

While all fit perfectly in the frame of pretentiousness. 

Finally, a real story end unlike pseud dreamland:

And they lived miserably after that. 🖋