"Do you understand my pain?"

She asked him often, “Do you understand my pain” and he gladly nodded his head to say yes. Upon his response she looked at him rather surprisingly wondering, if he even knows what that ‘yes’ meant to her. It definitely meant her world, her kingdom which she has been chasing for so many years to conquer, to grab her butt over that relinquished throne. She asked him again and again hoping for a change in answer, but things seemed no different. It is not that she enjoyed this topic over a bucket of popcorn with some diet coke; she heartedly hated it. She knew she was scratching a wound relentlessly to make it a blister and then in to something that can never be healed and if healed, to leave a scare for life. And there he was, making her believe he understands her pain. For once her heart let out an instant spark and it smiled thoroughly after long miserable years, comforting it said “he understands you dear” but immediately she realized may be his words were coaxing her heart in to liking him. May be he never even tried to understand it.
She had concluded even before meeting him that nobody can even remotely relate to her pain or even come in a zone of understanding it. She never shared as well, not a crime though. The fact was, the instant she had turned this knob everybody’s gaze would change. May be from hatred to misery to sympathy to anger or at worst the look of a lawyer, when he knows for sure his client is guilty but he has to support him to feed his hungry stomach. So she never shared. The only person who came so close to her pain, instead of the expected weird statements, he said, he understands her.
There she was repenting the action of sharing vivid picture of her childhood. “You were young, helpless and harmless. Anybody could have taken advantage of you. So why do you feel guilty?” he had asked the first time. She was perplexed by his statement and replied, “You are not in my shoes so you don’t know the feel of a shoe bite or even worse, not being able to wear one for few days”.  Not even for a single second she felt guilty but sad. Over years the sadness faded and blossomed as a thick thorn which kept pricking and made her prick others by actions, by words, by choice. She was rude, sarcastic, right on your head kind of a person without any emotions but was she to blame for it? 
He asked her, “why can’t you just let it go and live like it never happened?” and she said, “Because it did happen and you won’t understand the touch of a stranger in the strange places of my body in a strange way when I was in living an age of Alice in wonderland. Trust me, it wasn’t a good wonderland”.
Even today, she probes in to her past to know if she had missed an opportunity of becoming the front page news years ago by keeping her tiny hole of mouth shut. How world would have whirled around her if she had become the top news? How she would have survived then? Did she make a mistake by not letting the secret out or was this the only way to live? Over and over again she walks down that lane trying to empty out the baggage, only to realize she was shoving in some extra weight with her each visit. 
While all these hefty calculations were cramming her head he puts in some more thoughts by saying he understands her pain. May be he wasn’t so sure. May be this was not his final answer. May be she would ask him again tomorrow if he truly, willfully, honestly and most important, respectfully understands her pain. 

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