FABLE FACTORY

UNEXPRESSED THOUGHTS
ARUSHAA RAYHAN
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The screen was blank. Stark black. There was no picture of my childhood with dad. I'm not sure if I uttered the word “dad” for the first time, or if he held my fingers gently and taught me how to walk. I don't even remember if he took me in his arms and put a gentle kiss on my forehead saying, “You'll be fine” when I was crying on the first day of school. My cerebral cortex does not hold the delicate moments and precious memories of my childhood with my father. It was like a canvas without colors.
And then a figure emerged from the background. A tall, professor-like person wearing glasses held me close and hugged me. It was the first memory of my father, when I was seven.
From then I could feel a hand on my shoulder, a tall figure, my shadow, a blessing on my forehead, a perfect father right beside me.
Because I was always the shy type, I never let my emotions escape my heart. They were always camouflaged but now it's time I showed them.
Dad, whatever you have done for me is more than one can imagine. You are not just my dad but a special person with lots of humour and a big heart and of course an ocean full of knowledge. You win the hearts of many and you are my idol. Wherever you will go, I shall follow…

Arushaa Rayhan, 18, is an A-level student at Scholastica.

AS IT RAINED
SHREYOSI ENDOW
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Click. Click. Click.
Panini had been at it for the last fifteen minutes, constantly clicking away for the perfect shot. He was indifferent to the harmonious pitter-patter against the tin shed, indifferent to the sweet fragrance of jui that filled the air, indifferent to the girl who was staring at him, as if in a trance, for the last fifteen minutes they had been on the terrace, and for the last sixteen years they'd known each other. He only focused on the raindrops, which hit the gravel floor and then dispersed like dust diamonds, waiting to capture the perfect moment.
Mrinalini hated the day Panini's father gifted him the SLR. She sat behind him on the swing, swinging gently so as to not hurt him, as he sat comfortably on the ground. She could see the top of his head; black, curly hair on his pale scalp. With one thin hand against her cheek, she remembered all the times she had attempted to straighten the perfect curls as a child, but only in vain. A small smile made its way to her lips.
'Like old times, Mrin?' Panini broke the silence. Mrinalini could not ignore the butterflies in her stomach; neither could she stop herself from flashing her pearly white teeth. She had always thought that there was nothing that could beat the sound of rain, but his voice just did. There was just some sort of uninhibited magic in it.
Two bowls of puffed rice with tomatoes, chili, mustard oil and coriander leaves rested on a tray on the glass table in front of the swing. While Mrinalini took small handfuls occasionally, Panini remained comfortably occupied with his work. She never took her eyes off him. She could never comprehend how the chubby, always smiling, sensitive friend of hers became this handsome young man. She was well aware of her feelings for him, but she feared that once she unleashed them, they would just be ignored like the puffed rice that was slowly going stale.
Today was somehow different.  A tiny flame of desperation burned inside her, and the rain only encouraged it to glow more brightly. She had to break the barrier that was making its way between Panini and her, she had to let go.
'Pani,' she softly said.
'Hmm?' Panini asked, not stirring from his position. He took a few more shots, and then clicked his tongue, unsatisfied.
A storm broke inside Mrinalini. With eyes glistening like the raindrops on the steel railings of the swing, she twisted her lips to form words, which started as a soft murmur, but then came out in a whisper, 'Do you ever think of us?'
Panini brought his camera down. Just for a moment. For the words echoed in his ears. He sat absolutely still, as if struck by thunder.
'What do you mean, “think of us,”?' he said slowly.
Mrinalini watched a leaf fall from the money plant that had crept up the swing. She trembled like a butterfly whose wings were about to be taken off, but today she had to speak.  'Us, you know, you and I, more than what we are, what we could be,' she mumbled, her heart racing.
Panini remained still. Suddenly, he could smell the sweet fragrance of jui. He could hear the pitter patter of the rain. He noticed the bowl of almost stale puffed rice. He could even smell the mustard oil! He could hear his heartbeat, he could feel the blood gushing through his veins. In the blink of an eye, he seemed to be aware of all that went on around him. He grasped the camera tightly and turned around.
Click.
Mrinalini stared at the lens, lips slightly parted, unable to understand what was going on. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, a beautiful expression of confusion, hurt, happiness and joy adorned her thin face. As Panini lowered the camera, she saw a smile on his face and the glitter in his big, black eyes.
Panini had captured the perfect moment.

Shreyosi Endow, 16, is a private A level student.

STROKES
RAIYAN SHAHRYAR
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Ugly. Disgusting. Vile. Repulsive.
She knew what was wrong with her. Sadly, so did others. And they didn't hesitate to point it out whenever they got the chance either. She didn't mind. She tried to be invisible. They all wished she was. She didn't like studying. She didn't like playing either, not that she had anyone to play with. In fact, she didn't like anything. What she didn't like most of all was breathing. Every breath she took seemed a waste to her. After all, they had called her “A waste of oxygen.” She despised it. Life. Hated every minute of it. Except when she's painting. She didn't have any friends. The paintbrush was her friend. Her best friend. Her only friend. She only liked painting. Because in her paintings, everything was beautiful, and nothing was real.
Lies. Lies painted on a canvas.
One day she couldn't take it anymore. The taunting, the insults, the words had been too much. Words are what had hurt her. So she held her friend for the last time and said goodbye. She didn't want to say it in words, instead she showed it in colors. After all, how could she do otherwise? Words were what had hurt her, broken her. Words were all lies. The canvas showed the truth.
She was beautiful.

Raiyan Shahryar, 15, is a Grade 10 student at St Joseph Higher Secondary School.