Something about the diary seems to draw you need as you absentmindedly pick it back up and open it as you take a seat on the sofa. You can’t recognise the words or even the letters which compromised them but nonetheless you begin reading through.
An unknown amount of time passes and for some strange reason you can’t help but keep reading in spite of the fact you can’t understand it. That being said, you’ve been reading long enough that you can begin recognising some of the words. You read more and despite not being any sort of linguistically expert, you cna begin to infer some meanings to the words.
You keep reading, somehow getting more and more enthralled as you do while the words become somehow increasingly clearer, but you’re much to engrossed in the diary to care.
After a while you can begin putting sentences together and even are up a few paragraphs. This seems to have been a diary written by an Indian girl. You keep reading and as you do you can’t help but relate to her easily, something about her and the struggles she writes about seem familiar and relatable.
Perhaps it goes to so people from all walks of life share similar issues. Whatever the case is you keep reading, noticing that you cross your legs in a girly posture as you turn a page with your now slightly more delicate looking hands,
You keep reading through the diary, it now seeming clear as if you’ve always read it. You can’t bring yourself to care however as you’re too interested in the girl’s thoughts. You’re even beginning to think in Hindi, which you brush off as just you making it easier to read the text in front of you. You scratch your head as it begins itching, being once again too enthralled to notice that your wig is attached to your head.
As you go in you can’t help but comment in different entries in your mind as you increasingly think in Hindi. You note briefly that the diary contains a few vividly accurate descriptions of the room you sit in, but before you can think too much you move onto the next entry, reading more about her family and hobbies.
Eventually you reach the final pages, about having to pick out a saree which she describes in a way making it sounds strangely like yours. She says she needs it for a party down the street. Which causes you to jump out of your trance and look at the clock, seeings it’s nearly time for the petty.
You rush to put the dirty down only to stop st the last moment and instead take one final look at the final page and the similarities it has to you. However what draws your attention more is that it seems bare and incomplete. Looking down you notice that it hasn’t been signed with name, unlike all the after entries.
For some reason you can’t let this go and so you take out a pen and write down the same name from all the other entries, ‘Ruhi’, which you manage to do in perfect Hindi. Althiugh oddly you don’t find that really too strange.
As you write the name down your hand grows more slender and slim, but your focus is too much on the words to notice this oddity.
Getting up you also barely notice that your feet seem to fit the sandals better, which you decide is due to them getting used to it. You walk flawlessly across the room, having not difficulty with heels. You don’t notice that the back entrance leading straight outside is gone and now replace with a door into a hallway.
Opening it up you walk out in the house where something finally manages to surprise you.