"Night dad, I love you, and dare you keep up yourself late in the night. I will come and check." I warned him before closing the door of his room.
It should be him telling me all these things, but here in our case, it's different. I have to take care of him. My father, being the responsible doctor, does important research in the night—that is his best time to do it. He says night gives him pleasure; working when the stars are twinkling at night and when the birds are putting their little ones to sleep with their lullabies, he gets an upfront motivation to work.
However, I oppose him. Neither do I like the night nor the twinkling stars up there in the sky. I securely locked the door of my room as well as the lights, except the night bulb that is above my head back on the wall right over my portrait.
The darkness gives me chills. I feel suffocated, and that army of those stupid stars makes me feel as if there are millions of eyeballs staring at me.
I put myself to bed and lay on my left side looking near the window. The breeze was cool, and I was in no need of switching the AC on; the natural one was enough for me to go to sleep. I like nature and its benefits; I like the newness and pureness of it.
My eyes were heavy. I wanted to sleep, but unfortunately, I could not put myself to sleep—just like the other nights. Not that I have chronic sleeplessness or insomnia, but that fear that has been there deep inside my chest, eating me alive, thus never allowing me to stay at peace.
Actually, I feel—I feel that someone watches me! Watches my every damn move. I feel like—like there is this pair of two eyes that is fixed on me all the time, as if it's reading my every fucking movement as to what I do and when I don't like to do anything. It knows when I go to sleep and when my sleep is the deepest.
I feel as if somebody visits me every damn night, touches me, notices my habits as to what I do in my slumber, sits there on my study table located across my bed near the wall, and reads me like its favorite book! I know it's stupid of me to say that, but that is what I have been feeling until last year—that too after Ryley's birthday.