We cross the street, heading towards opposite directions, and catch ourselves looking at each other for a fleeting moment, before we walk away. Your form is as familiar as ever and I know you recognise me too. Not much about you has changed, but I don't know who you are anymore. In that fleeting moment when our eyes meet, I notice a cold indifference about you that was never there before. And in that moment, walking away from you becomes all the more easier.
In this place where everyone dons the darkest shades of colours, we cannot show how bright ours are if we are to live. We must hide the vibrant hues we wear if we are to survive. And I know that's what you're doing now, because I have seen your colours and how fluorescent they are. I have seen you wear the brightest shade of gold and shine like the rays of light and hope in this dull, darkened world. But now when I look at you, I don't see any traces of your colours. All I see are muted shades of ebony and midnight blue. Not a speck of the gold you had, not a smear of the red or the turquoise or the yellow.
When did you get this good at hiding? When did you become this good at covering up? What I see of you now, is it mere camouflage, or are your colours really fading into their darkest forms? Everything about you is still the same, but I don't know who you are anymore. In that fleeting moment when our eyes meet, I don't see any signs of recognition, though I know you haven't forgotten. I know you remember. I just don't know why you walk away without the slightest acknowledgement, as if we never shared the same colours. As if we weren't the only ones in this accursed place trying to hide who we are just to survive—because the colours we possess are enough to make all the shadows come crawling after us.
As we walk away from each other, a strange feeling grips me, born half out of loneliness and half desolation. I don't recognize this murky version of you. I remember who you were and I long for the person I used to know. I miss you in your glorious rays of gold, in your brightest crimson, in your blazing yellow. But all I see now is a grim figure donning the bleakest hues of indigo. I feel so alone all of a sudden, having to carry the weight of the colours all by myself now. And so I walk away, tightly hugging my sombre grey coat to myself, making sure the fiery scarlet doesn't show from within.
The writer is a student of BRAC University, Department of English.
