Does Time ever turn back?

Where does this road lead? She had not wondered until she reached the bend. She never felt the necessity to wonder.

Every path she had tread until a few years back had been well laid out for her. All rocks carefully removed and all grains and pebbles strained away lest they hurt her. She was so used to prancing barefoot on these harmless trails, so accustomed to being picked up even if she faltered a step, so much entwined within the fabric of her home, so very dependent on the people she had known for years for every little word of encouragement and affection that she took them for granted. She never once thought before she made a phone call at 3 in the morning to cry a little into sympathetic ears before an exam she was scared of, or when she felt homesick among the multitude of kids around or when she broke a photo frame or when she dashed a bottle of perfume or to rejoice for a game she had won, or when she couldn't sleep over a bad dream. Now she hesitates.

People grow apart. Not necessarily out of diminishing attachments, neither out of force of habit, but because of expanding circles of life and ever growing responsibilities. She thinks before she makes a phone call now and henceforth always will.

I wish time would turn back. She has closed her eyes in an attempt to shield herself on the roads she has been walking solitary for the past some time. She walks mechanically. Sometimes, looking over her shoulders hoping someone will come to her just like they always did, if she missed a step, when she would play in the yard, blindfolded. They do not. Turning back, she can see all eyes on her, just like the first day she stood up and took a step unaided. They applauded then. Today, they just watch, silent, and apprehensive. Why don't they tell her what to do? Why don't they tell her what's been bothering them as they used to? Why won't they walk with her? She is so used to them. She looks away to wipe the wet on her cheeks and walks on wondering. Why do they pretend to have become so indifferent? Don't they worry anymore? Why don't they talk to her anymore like they used to? Why won't they come to play with her in the evenings? Why won't they hide their chocolates only to let her steal them later? Why won't they quarrel with her over a comic book? Why won't they even incite her to hit them with her fisted hands, and laugh at her attempts? Why will they just smile a worried little smile when she speaks incessantly and incoherently as is her wont? Why won't they show her how to paint a door? Why won't they put up streamers and balloons on her birthday? Why won't they read a book to her in the afternoons? Why won't they fly a kite with her anymore and take her to their cricket grounds as an umpire? Why aren't they there to carry her down when she climbs up a flower tree to hide? Why won't they comb her hair and tidy her when she comes home dirty, from wallowing in mud ponds in the village? Why won't they hide her behind the sofa when their mother loses patience over the nth broken tea cup? Why don't they put her on their bicycle and take her around town anymore? Why won't they make fun of her when she fools around in their oversized shoes?

Will Time never turn back?
The pain is overwhelming.
She lets the road lead her wherever it will.
Walk she will!