She lay down, her hip in a cast. She felt a deep ennui. She could convince herself it was the world at large. But it was something far more personal. She was too worn out to pray. So she stayed in bed and wept. The tears were ones of frustration, of hesitation, of years of silence. She lived a private life without allowing others to see her fears. She never vocalised the fears from the fright of never being rid of them. She occasionally let God into her thoughts. But her faith had taken a beating with that fall.
How could she give up dance? It made her spirits rise and fall with each motif. Her emotions converted robotic steps to elegant movements. She felt rhythm accelerate her heart beat and send her body moving across the stage. But, dance, she had to give up. Few things had consumed her the way dance had. Nothing had meant as much.
She watched Shariff clean up the room around her. He gave her a faint smile. He knew she would be broken. He switched off the lights in the room, opened a curtain and kissed her forehead as he left. He loved his sister but he couldn’t understand Sophie’s pain. He knew that she had overheard the doctors tell the family that the prospect of future dancing was close to zero. No one had the courage to break the news to her. Everyone knew it was a part of her. Tragically, it was taken away. Her eyes, ever since the realisation, displayed deep sorrow and restlessness. He hoped she would see the rays of light and not spiral into an abyss.
He envisioned that someday she would be able to dance again. Till then, she just needed to recover and find something else that got her through.