The Jack Of Hearts

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  • Published: 30 May 2014
  • Updated: 30 May 2014
  • Status: Complete
Nisha Sharma is an average sixteen-year-old with a love for writing. She knows there aren't many teenagers in the world with a similar passion and over the years, she has learnt to accept that. But all of that changes when she stumbles onto an amazing website, an online platform for people who share her interests - Movellas.
For the first time in her life, she feels like she belongs.
But a sense of belonging is not the only thing Movellas has given her. Over time, she begins to ask herself one crucial question:
Could the love of her life be just a few clicks away?


1. Prologue

I was never one to believe in miracles.

Having developed a very logical approach to the concept, I had decided that ‘miracles’ were overrated. Something you just see in movies. Real life doesn’t spring opportunities and fairytale romances right in your face. You have to struggle for things like that. If miracles were what made the world go round, surely one would have manifested itself in my life by now. I mean, sixteen years is a long time to wait.

Especially if you’re waiting for something that doesn’t even exist.

As young girls, my mother taught my sister and me to believe in all kinds of magic. I remember getting excited at the sight of a shooting star or a wishing well. That kind of innocence may seem endearing now but I cannot begin to describe the frustration I felt when none of my prayers would come true even after countless nights spent on the roof whispering to meteors.

The pessimism was only compounded after my dad passed away and no amount of crying or praying or chucking coins in stupid wells would bring him back.

I think what angered me the most was that I never got to know my dad. Everybody kept telling me how much I reminded them of him. There were framed photos of him on our walls and shelves and yes, of course I could see the similarities. Those light eyes, the dark hair. I’m practically a photocopy. But I wish I could remember what he was really like. Did he not believe in miracles either? I wish I could ask him.

They say it was a motorway accident. I was only six and my sister nine. My recollection of it is nebulous but I think that’s because I really don’t want to remember. It was a horrible time. Mama was heartbroken and she had the two of us to take care of. It was difficult to live in a posh big city like Mumbai now so she packed everything and moved us up to Dehradun, a nice hill station in northern India.

As the years passed, the pessimism wore off and I tried to look at things differently. But somewhere in my heart, I hated the world for being such an insensitive place. Why did bad things happen to good people? Papa didn’t deserve to die like that. Mama didn’t deserve to be abandoned like that. The unfairness of it all made me crazy.    

That was probably why I never made any real friends. I didn’t trust anyone.

Just when I thought my life was set in a perfect monotone and I was probably meant to be miserable and angry with everything forever, things changed. They changed so suddenly and so completely that it was breathtaking. Too good to be true.

Could I afford to let down my guard now? Was it possible for me open up and actually feel happy? 

The questions and apprehensions were endless. The doubts scared me out of my wits. For the first time ever, I was dreaming. And dreaming big. I think, now that I look back, this was where my life took a hairpin turn and put a lot of things into perspective.

But the most incredible part? It made me start believing in miracles.

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