An Indian woman, 30s, leans toward the camera with her chin resting against the open palm of one hand, her curved fingers framing her wide-open smile. Her wrist is hyper-extended, bent a bit too far back to seem completely relaxed. Her tan skin and tired joints crave a different season; a climate warmer than the one in which she was born. Her hair [black, centre-parted, between shoulder- and elbow-length] flows down in casual, unstyled waves. Her eyebrows, raised and thin, imply a shape that was once fuller—thick and dark, like the rest of her hair. Now, the sparse lines above her eyes betray uneven spaces. The creases below are set deep. Her smile betrays nothing, she believes. Not illness. Not anxiety. Not uncertainty. Not the fact that the bright gleam in her brown eyes—a reflected row of open windows—is all she’s seen outside of her mother’s house in weeks. None of these truths make her smile a lie. Her exhaustion and her happiness are equally real. Today, she lined her eyes with dark kohl, put on a denim dress she likes, and decided to dream of the future; of spring.
Alt Text Selfies
