“Why are you so angry?” This is what he asked.

She looked at him, bewildered. How could he ask that? How could he not know? Was he just outright oblivious?

She looked at the man. She studied him, very carefully. She wanted to understand him. Of course, she wanted to. Part of her already did. Yes, part of her knew.

Their lives were very similar. And yet, they were not. There were slight variances there. Though, the differences felt massive. The differences felt monstrous, now.

“Why are you so angry?” He asked this question, again. He looked at her, curious.

She wanted to scream loudly. She wanted to throw something. She wanted to thrash about. Yet, she remained calmly seated. She did not lose her temper. Instead, she remained quiet, demure. Instead, she averted her eyes.

“I am not really angry.” This is how she replied. Of course, it was untrue. It was a blatant lie.

She was surprised he noticed. She was surprised he asked. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to understand. And so, she didn’t tell.