And The Dandelions Fell Apart: And The Dandelions Fell Apart_1, #1

By Sunehar Aneja, Angela Mathew

Our anthology follows the theme that every person is dealing with problems that we are unaware of. Every character in our anthology is leading a separate life and is dealing with their own separate traumas, character arcs, and life stories but they are all connected by one common thread: all of them are in the same class at Westercrest Global School.

 

About The Authors :

 

Sunehar Aneja is a 17-year old humanities student who has a desire for constant improvement and a need for perfection. She has always been creatively inclined and has had a flair for writing since she was a child. Sunehar uses words in a way that is sometimes uncanny, mostly thought-provoking, and always beautiful. At first reading, her poems feel like a lot of powerful words strung well together but if you look closer, you can see the deeper themes that lie within. 

 

Angela Mathew is a teenage student, artist and history enthusiast. She writes in her downtime; whenever inspiration hits her and mostly about the things she believes in. She loves ancient cultures, English oldies, books and sunny winter afternoons. She is very passionate about Egyptology and is quite fond of photography and dancing.

 

Tanvi Jain is a voracious reader, avid writer and a connoisseur of bad puns. Nothing is off limits for this protean teenager! Be it working in a digital magazine as an editor or giving a TedEd talk at the mere age of sixteen, she does it all. Tanvi adores dancing, and makes covers for her YouTube channel and Instagram page (@letznacho).

 

Dhwani Arun is an exuberant 17 year old student of DPS Noida. She is a passionate learner with interests ranging from academics to performing arts. With a zeal for Literature, Mathematics, Economics and Bharatanatyam, Dhwani strongly believes in having a balance in life and living it to the fullest. She loves exploring new dimensions of reality and travelling, specifically to archeological sites. An 'extroverted introvert', she has an insightful mind and an adroit and resolute personality.

 

Shiuli is a 17-year-old teenager with too many dreams but not enough plans to accomplish them just yet. She is a mental health activist, author, and poet. She loves to sing and compose songs of her very own. With firm beliefs of a better world, she hopes that she can play even the smallest part in manifesting a world where women can hold onto their dreams tighter than pepper spray bottles.

 

Samiya singh is a huge dance enthusiast who is currently a humanities student. She has also participated in various competitions including essay writing, MUNs, theatre etc. She loves reading books and listening to music. Her guilty pleasure is reading stories on Wattpad! She is a total foodie and is interested in fashion designing.

 

Shreeya is a 16 year old enthusiastic girl who grew up in the contemporary and colourful city of Delhi. She is passionate and observant, a budding writer. She likes dogs and the positivity that they surround her with. Her many interests include reading, travelling and volunteering for society. She wants to absorb every possible experience, have a go at new things and think out of the box.

 

Radhika Chugh is an empath currently studying in 12th standard. She wrote her first poem about 5 years ago and started writing as an escape mechanism. She presented her first commercial work as a senior journalist in a children's newspaper.  Radhika is a soft-souled wholesome poet and an awe-inspiring writer who knows how to put her true feelings into words which are lucid to comprehend and very delightful to read.

 

Sandhya is a Delhite, a bookworm and a chai-enthusiast. A true student of humanities, she is a renaissance teen- a writer, poet, photographer, dancer and an artist.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Author Tree Publishing
• Release date: Dec 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9789391078164

Book preview

Authors Tree Publishing

W/13, Near Dindayal Colony, Bilaspur, Chhattisgarh 495001

Published By Authors Tree Publishing 2021

Copyright © Sunehar Aneja & Angela Mathew 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner (Author) except for the use of quotations in a book review.

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN: 978-93-91078-16-4

MRP: Rs.299/-

This book has been published with all reasonable efforts taken to make the material error-free after the consent of the author. No part of this book shall be used, reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The author of this book is solely responsible and liable for its content including but not limited to the views, representations, descriptions, statements, information, opinions and references [content]. The content of this book shall not constitute or be construed or deemed to reflect the opinion or expression of the publisher or editor. Neither the publisher nor editor endorse or approve the content of this book or guarantee the reliability, accuracy or completeness of the content published herein and do not make any representations or warranties of any kind, express or implied, including but not limited to the implied warranties of merchantability, fitness for a particular purpose. the publisher and editor shall not be liable whatsoever for any errors, omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause or claims for loss or damages of any kind, including without limitation, indirect or consequential loss or damage arising out of use, inability to use, or about the reliability, accuracy or sufficiency of the information contained in this book.

CONTENTS

ABOUT THE BOOK

‘And the Dandelions Fell Apart’ has been co-authored by nine budding writers. All of them are teenagers just beginning to explore the vast and wonderful world of writing. They wish to put a piece of themselves onto paper through the words and stories they weave, each a beautiful creation straight from their hearts. Through these nine stories, they want to share something meaningful that they have themselves learnt in life, and perhaps touch a few hearts. Each and every one of them has grabbed this opportunity with open hearts and eager minds. The process has been difficult for every one with plenty of obstacles along the way but the final product has been rewarding in its own way to each person.

Our anthology follows the theme that every person is dealing with problems that we are unaware of. Every character in our anthology is leading a separate life and is dealing with their own separate traumas, character arcs, and life stories but they are all connected by one common thread: all of them are in the same class at Westercrest Global School. 

All our characters embark on separate journeys that take them on their separate realisations and they explore avenues of life ranging from acceptance, love, hope, trauma and reconciliation.

| Page

CHAPTER - I

VEERA

Veera (noun): The Courageous One

Wrapped in a cocoon, a caterpillar awaits metamorphosis. A change so big, it gives wings to fly. But isn’t the caterpillar so lonely in the shell, waiting and watching to transform? I am that caterpillar, alone, yet alive in my cocoon. But will I transform, do I get wings to unfurl? I doubt it, very much so. 

F

irstborn to my parents, elder sister to a twelve-year-old menace and maths prodigy of Westercrest Global School, hi, I’m Veera. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am currently in a staring contest with my brother Viraj, who wants to visit the Kusumgarh fort before sunset and I have to chaperone him if I lose. If he loses, I get to stay back and finish up my assignments and he has to do my share of the dishes.  

Did he just blink? Yes, he did. His face falls with the weight of disappointment, and he goes to call his friends to inform them of this tragedy. Must be nice to have friends. People who wait for you, and want you so much that your absence affects them. My heart goes out for him. I take his hand and we walk, informing our mother on our way out, as she tends to the beautiful roses in the garden.

My mother is as beautiful as those roses. Tall and crimson-cheeked, natural curls framing her perfect face, with microscopic crows-feet near her eyes, as she dimples her acknowledgement. Her right cheek is smeared with dirt, but once you wipe that away, a benevolent brown patch will appear. A birthmark. One that, surprisingly, I share with my mother. She often jokes that we were twins separated by a generation. I disagree, privately. The birthmark is the only feature of myself that I like. I am short, shorter than my twelve-year-old brother, with boring straight hair and a left ear I despise (it doesn’t match with my right one and my soul feeds on congruence). My cheeks don’t dimple, my eyes don’t twinkle and my personality has no sparkle. I’m invisible, I think, unless someone wants to copy my homework five minutes before the bell rings. It will hardly take me two minutes, don’t worry. Worry? Gosh no, I may be quiet, but I am no slacker. It’s you who should worry; I won’t be there for you to copy off me your entire life. 

Anyways, I digress. Viraj and I have finally reached the fort, which is the hub for children of all ages in Kusumgarh. I see his friends waiting for him by the steps, waving at him excitedly. My heart fills up with both pride and jealousy (I think?). Let me just explain it this way. If A is a set of friends that I have, it will be called a null set. It has no elements, it’s empty. The people I’m closest to are my family and my only confidant is my brother. That’s why I plaster on a smile and tell him to go and play. He shoots me a concerned look and I know he senses something off but is too caught up in excitement right now to talk about it, and that’s fine by me. For someone his age, Viraj can be oddly perceptive and he tries so much to bolster up my confidence. 

I spot some of my classmates from school, talking and laughing and having a good time. The term has just started; how do they even know each other that quickly? No one notices me, but maybe that’s on me. I could go up and say hi, but what do I say after that? They probably don’t even know I exist. So, I go and sit on a big rock, scrolling through Instagram. It’s a bad idea since it makes me feel horrid about my life, but I do it anyway. As I predicted, I shut it off within minutes, opting to watch the lake swirl about. The lake is always so beautiful, my favourite part of this town. I notice a boy by the shore, I think I saw him in my class on the first day. He goes by Jay. He’s by the water, camera in hand, clicking away at the sights. I wonder if the photos would turn out good, I would really like one to put in my room. But I can’t just go and ask him that, he will think I’m weird. But I see Viraj, carefree and confident, and think perhaps I just might do this. 

I walk the trail, weaving around the sleeping dogs and excited squirrels, down to the edge of the water. It‘s my favourite spot near the lake. I sit with my toes slightly dipped in it, the cooling sensations calming me. I watch Jay, who is now only about six feet away from me, secretly hoping he would start up the conversation. But he doesn’t even look at me. I think it’s because he is swept up in his passion for photography, so I wait. But the expected greeting never comes. Something inside me, I think it was a tiny sliver of hope, shatters. Why I even tried is beyond me. I just confirmed something that I already knew, and that something hurts me. I shove it away, trying to repeat Viraj’s mantra that he uses to soothe me when I blow things out of proportion. It’s not my fault, I am not to blame, there are other factors involved that I have no control over. The water does a wonderful job of relaxing me, and I close my eyes, trying to shut out everything else. I made an effort, and that counts for something. 

Nothing in this world could

Ever bring them down

Yeah, they're invincible, 

and she's just in the background 

~Echosmith

As the sun begins to set, I walk back to find Viraj. It’s time to go home. I find him giggling as he runs after his friend, trying to catch him. I never used to play much, wanting to study as much as possible. I feel like I missed out on something, my childhood looks incomplete in hindsight. Ah well, it is what it is. I call Viraj, telling him it’s time to go, and this time he doesn’t argue surprisingly. He must have seen how late it was getting. We rush back home, babbling and bickering throughout the way. Mumma’s already served dinner by the time we reach, so we wash our hands and sit at the table. I always love family dinner time. No gadgets, no distractions. I feel like it is the foundation of how strong our bond is. I know I can tell my mother anything, and can always go to my father for advice. Like always, we talk about our day. I talk about my school, my classes, how I aced another maths test. I think about telling them about what happened at the fort, but decide I would tell my mother later. I don’t want to ruin everyone’s mood. Viraj chatters on and on, I swear he never stops. Hopping from one narrative to the other, school, extracurriculars, friends, homework, the kid has a never-ending stream of stories. Mumma talks about how her garden is doing so much better after last night’s rain and some anecdotes from work. She’s also a teacher, not in my school though. Papa inserts his dad jokes at random intervals and then proceeds to tell us fascinatingly random facts. How his engineer brain seems to have so much information, I cannot even fathom.  

Dinner ends, and I go to my room to get one more session of studying before bed. I revise Pythagoras’ Theorem, simply because I find it one of the most beautiful theorems to exist till now. The square of the hypotenuse is the sum of the squares of the other two sides. Without the other two sides, the hypotenuse won’t exist. I like to think that I’m the hypotenuse and what makes me up is family and maths. And that is the thought with which I finally fall asleep, miniature right-angled triangles poking at my subconscious. 

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My eyes open at the crack of dawn, the wind tickling my feet. I look out the window, bleary-eyed, marvelling at the spiralling clouds around the peaks. If you look close enough, you can make out my school amidst the fog. I tiptoe outside, being cautious not to wake anyone else. I generally wake up an hour before school, but tests are coming up so I have to do my due diligence right now. I won’t bore you with the details, but you can guess what I studied, maths of course. An hour later, or maybe it was two, I could hear Mumma in the kitchen, ushering in the usual pre-school hustle. I can hear her calling to Viraj, telling him he’s late, even though he isn’t. It’s the only way to wake the adorable sleepyhead. Finally, finally, we set off. Viraj and I could take the bus, it would save us the twenty-minute walk, but I kind of enjoy it. We cross The Golden Crust Bakery and the aroma of freshly baked goodies gives me inexplicable joy. We play our usual game of staying within the area of the cobblestones, never once touching the perimeters of the granite squares. All this beats sitting alone on the bus.

We reach school, and I soar up the flight of stairs, taking two at a time, forty-four in total. Honestly, it might sound random, but this pattern is one of my favourite parts of our school. My other favourite part is the library. Anytime you don’t see me in class, know that I am in the library, usually hidden behind a giant stack of books. 

I go to class, boisterous noises filling all my senses. I can see two boys playing catch with the duster, a group of girls giggling in the corner, some students chatting by the locker, expressions contorting into dismay when they realise how many books they left at home. I see Ananya, a long-time classmate of mine, surrounded by people who look at her with attention and adoration. I look away quickly, for it reminds me of everything I can never be. And I can’t even fault her, she is genuinely a sweet person and deserves to have lots of amazing friends. On the other hand, no one waves at me or even looks at me. It has started to hurt less than it used to. I still have fifteen minutes before the teacher arrives. I rush to the library; I have to return the workbook I borrowed before I forget. The librarian, Ms Mehta, smiles so brightly when she sees me, the sharpness of the previous hurt dulls into a faint hum. I quickly return the book to her, talk for a few moments and go back to class. Just in time too. Mr Victor, our class teacher, entered mere seconds after me. I like Mr Victor. He has this air about him, that you can trust him with anything. He announces that this year was going to be a creative one because he has an exciting end-of-the-year project for us. Surprise, surprise, the class exploded into bedlam and yours truly was the only one who had no one to chit chat with. And why did that happen? I’ll give you four options to choose from:

They don’t know me

They don’t see me

They don’t like me

Why don’t they like me?...

'Cause tonight I'm feeling like an astronaut

Sending SOS from this tiny box

And I lost all signal when I lifted off

Now I'm stuck out here and the world forgot 

~Simple Plan. 

In the next period, Ms DeSilva, the best mathematics teacher of Westercrest Global School, walks in. This is the most animated I ever become at school: answering questions and asking doubts. My energy suddenly peaks, reaches its maximum in my daily charts. 

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Maths class ends to give way to recess, and I cannot wait to sink my claws in the extra