Hey everyone, this is the first chapter of my story. I'm really hoping you'll enjoy it! I know it might not be for everyone, and if the concept doesn't click with you, that's totally okay, feel free to skip it. But, this story is really important to me. It's about some tough things that a lot of children go through, and I wanted to share that. I'd really love to hear what you think, so please leave a comment if you have a moment, even if it's just a quick thought. I'm a little nervous about how it'll be received, so any feedback would be super helpful!
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Ahana
"Kabir, it's too much. I can't bear all this anymore" I said, my voice breaking as tears streamed down my face. My chest ached from holding everything in for too long.
"It's okay, babe. You don't have to worry. Once we get married, everything will be fine" he said in his usual calming tone, trying to soothe me.
"No, Kabir... it's not that simple. This... this doesn't feel like home. I feel suffocated in this house. I... I can't breathe here" I choked out wiping my cheeks with trembling fingers. The tears just wouldn't stop.
"It's okay, baby. Everything will be all right" he repeated gently. "Acha, I'm a little busy right now. We'll talk later, okay?" And just like that, the line went dead.
"Kabir, wai-" I started to speak, hoping to stop him but he had already ended the call.
I stared at the screen, trying to convince myself he didn't mean to hang up so abruptly. Maybe he really was just busy. He always listened to me, never once complained even when I cried for hours. If Kabir hadn't been there, I don't know how I would have made it this far.
He's my boyfriend. We've been together for six months now and somehow, his presence has helped me endure the constant taunts, tantrums and insults my family throws at me. Just knowing someone was out there who cared... it made everything feel a little more bearable.
"Ahana, come downstairs and help me with my work, quickly" Mumma's voice rang out from the hall, sharp and demanding.
I sighed harshly, wiping away the last traces of tears still clinging to my cheeks. Another day. Another round of pretending everything was fine. I stood motionless for a moment, trying to gather whatever strength I had left.
At the sink, I splashed cold water on my face and then again just like every other day the tears vanished, slipping down the drain but the heaviness in my chest stayed behind. I looked up at the mirror, meeting the eyes of the girl staring back at me. She looked so tired from everything, her smile had become something practiced, something that never quite reached her eyes anymore.
Still, I took a deep breath. Forced a faint smile. Just enough to get through the next few hours.
The moment I stepped into the room, Mumma's eyes met mine with a glare sharp enough to cut through air. "What's wrong with you? Can't you help me a little bit? Why does everyone keep dumping all the responsibility on me? And most importantly remember ahana you're a girl...you should know how to handle everything"
I paused, the lump in my throat was growing heavier. "Mumma, I... I was doing some work. I washed the dishes and already prepared the vegetables for dinner" I said quietly, carefully choosing my words.
But I already knew it wouldn't matter. I had heard this before. The tone. The accusations. The quiet ache that always followed.
"Oh, really? You were working?" she snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what do you think I was doing? Sleeping? You just washed a few dishes and cut some vegetables and now that's enough? That's your excuse?"
Her words came faster and colder like she had rehearsed them in her mind. "Can't you learn something from Diya? She's younger than you and still manages to make her mom proud. And you... what have you done? Nothing."
She turned away, muttering under her breath and told me to start preparing the dough for rotis.
Each word hit harder than the last but I stood there silently, absorbing it all like I always did because arguing never changed anything it only made the storm louder.
The familiar sting of comparison burned behind my eyes.
Diya.
Again that name.
It was almost ritualistic by now, the way it surfaced in every conversation, in every criticism thrown my way. Her name lingered in the air of our home like a sacred chant, something everyone held onto, something I was never allowed to be part of. Diya, is our neighbour's daughter, same age as me. She is the daughter everyone seemed to admire. The one who never disappointed her parents, born with so much blessings I guess.
She is brilliant in her studies, always neatly dressed with a soft smile on her face that adults seemed to adore. Her every small achievement was celebrated, her every mistake quickly forgiven, wrapped in warmth and reassurance. She is praised for the smallest things, loved openly, accepted without question.
And then there was me.
I'm the girl who was always trying to catch up, the one who gave her best and still heard it wasn't enough. The one whose efforts were measured against someone else's accomplishments. The girl who sat in silence while words like "Why can't you be more like her?" carved wounds no one could see.
No matter how much I did, no matter how hard I tried, the bar kept moving. Higher, farther, always just out of reach. I was never the reference point. Never the example, I was only ever the shadow cast in someone else's light.
And somehow, I had learned to live in that shadow quietly.
Sometimes, all I wanted was to hear the simplest words. "You did a good job, Ahana. We're proud of you." But those words always felt like they belonged in someone else's world. A distant dream that hovered out of reach. They were the kind of words meant for people like Diya not for me.
The silence that followed wasn't comforting or peaceful. It was thick with everything I had never said out loud. Every question I swallowed. Every feeling I buried. And all the things I had longed to hear but never did.
Still, I stepped into the kitchen, wiped my damp hands on the edge of my kurta, and reached for the flour jar. My fingers moved on their own, familiar with the rhythm of this task. No matter how I felt, the rotis still had to be made.
It's a small relief that Dad wasn't home early today. If he had been, the evening would have already turned into another battlefield, shouting echoing through the walls, doors slamming hard enough to shake the windows and bitter words hurled like knives in every direction.
Oh, and my brother?
I love him. Truly, I do. I respect him more than words can express. He was the only one who ever tried to protect me, even if it was just with his presence. But over time, I started pulling away from him. Not out of anger, not even resentment. Just... distance. A quiet space I created between us because he saved himself. And he left me behind.
He doesn't live with us anymore. He has his own house, his own peace, far away from these suffocating walls. And I? I'm still here. Trapped in this space where love often feels like a weight, where silence is the safest thing I know.
He knows what I go through. He knows how this house breaks me in small, invisible ways every single day. Still, he chose to walk away. I don't blame him. Everyone deserves peace. But knowing he has it, while I'm left to carry the weight alone, it stings.
I was in the middle of making rotis when I heard the front door open.
Dad had come home.
He didn't say anything, didn't even bother to give a glance in my direction. He simply walked past me and went straight to his room. A few minutes later, I heard him moving around again, the soft creak of the stairs and the shuffle of his slippers on the floor.
He entered the kitchen briefly, looking for something maybe water or a newspaper but still said nothing. It was always like this.
We lived in the same house, breathed the same air but we felt like strangers. And somehow, that had become normal.
By the time I finished making the rotis, Mumma had already prepared the sabzi. The kitchen was quiet now, the heavy silence lingering as we all gathered around the dining table.
None of us spoke, the only sounds that filled the room were the soft clink of utensils against plates and the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging in the air. I focused on my food, not really tasting it. My mind wandered, but I tried to keep my gaze low, avoiding any chance of eye contact with either of them.
It didn't take long for Dad to break the silence.
"Anamika" he said, his voice calm but firm "today I'll be in the study. I have some important business work, so don't disturb me."
(Anamika is her mother's name, just to clarify)
His words were casual but there was a sharpness in the air as they settled between us. His declaration wasn't just about the work. It was about the space he wanted to carve out, the distance he was making between us. And in that moment, it felt like the wall between us grew a little higher. Not just between him and Mumma, but between all of us.
Mumma's grip on the edge of the table tightened, her knuckles turning white as she suddenly snapped. "Do you think I care to disturb you? Do you think I die for your attention?" Her voice rose.
She slammed her hand on the table, the sound of it echoing in the quiet room. "You married me for your convenience and now I'm the one stuck in this miserable arrangement" she spat, her eyes flashing with frustration and anger.
The tension in the room thickened, heavy and suffocating, as if the air itself had changed. My heart raced, and I couldn't help but look down at my plate, feeling that familiar, bitter knot twist in my stomach.
This was the rhythm of our lives. A dance of silence and sharp words, where nothing was ever said directly, but everything was understood.
Dad's jaw clenched, his face turning a deep shade of red. His voice grew low and sharp, filled with something close to hatred. "What is your problem, damn it? Why do you have to fight over everything? Marrying you was the worst decision of my life. I wish I had divorced you long ago!"
The words hit like a slap but before I could even begin to process the weight of them, the sound of Mumma's plate crashing against the floor shattered the silence. The sharp clatter echoed through the room, but no one moved. Her eyes were wild, blazing with fury, the anger radiating off her in waves.
"Do you think I wanted to live with you?" she screamed, her voice trembling with rage. "I stayed only for the sake of your children! And don't you dare talk to me about sacrifice. I don't have a problem with my son, but this daughter?" She paused, the venom in her words growing sharper. "Did I ever want her? No! And now you're blaming me for everything?"
Her hands shook as she pointed toward me, her voice growing louder, more frantic with each word.
Her words cut through me like a knife, but I didn't let it show. I clenched my fists beneath the table, forcing myself to remain still, to stay composed, even though everything inside me was breaking apart.
"Mumma, please... calm down. Don't shout" I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could manage. It felt like I was holding on to the very edge of my sanity with each word I spoke. "And Dad, please... just go to your study. I'll bring your dinner there."
Dad shot me a glare, his eyes filled with contempt and frustration, before he turned and left without another word. The door slammed shut behind him, and the stillness that followed felt like the calm before a storm.
Mumma, still seething, turned her gaze to me, "You... you..." Her voice was shaking with fury. "It's all because of you, Ahana! It would have been better if you were never born!" she spat, the words stinging like acid. Her eyes burned with hatred, and for a moment, I could barely recognize her.
"Every parent wants to show off their children" she continued, her words sharp and jagged. "And I used to do that with your brother, my son. He made me proud and now see? He's living his own life now, far away from this chaos. But you? What have you done? You're nothing but a burden Ahana. Just get out of my sight!"
Her voice broke through me like glass shattering on the floor. Every word was a blow, each one hitting harder than the last.
I came running into my room, slamming the door behind me as my chest heaved with every breath. My hands shook, and my legs felt weak beneath me, but I didn't stop. I just kept walking until I reached the bed and collapsed onto it. The echo of her words still rang in my ears, heavy and cruel, slicing through me in a way that felt too familiar.
It wasn't the first time she had said things like that. It wasn't even the worst. But somehow, it still broke something inside me.
Why did it still hurt so much?
Why couldn't I just get used to it?
"Why is it always me?" I whispered into the silence of my room, my voice barely audible as it cracked with emotion. "Why?"
I pulled my legs up and hugged my knees tightly to my chest, curling into the smallest version of myself. My tears came slowly at first, then all at once, warm and silent as they rolled down my cheeks and soaked into the fabric of my clothes. I didn't even try to wipe them away. There was no point.
I have spent so many years trying to become better. Trying to be enough, I pushed myself beyond every limit.... stayed up late studying, helped with chores, said yes even when I wanted to scream no but none of it ever mattered to them. If I scored full marks in school, Mumma would glance at the result and say, "Next time, I want the same." No smile, no hugs, no Praises. Just another expectation added to the pile I was already buried under.
And Dad? He didn't care at all. He never looked at my report card, my report cards might as well have been blank pages. I could have screamed in front of him, and I still wouldn't exist in his world.
No matter how hard I tried, it was never enough.
But it wasn't just me.
Daivik bhaiya hadn't been spared either. She had been cruel to him too, her words cutting him in ways I hadn't understood back then. But he endured it differently...he survived it. He left for boarding school and never looked back. When he came home years later, he had built a life for himself. Strong, successful, and distant. He has his own house now... his own peace.....Far away from this place....far away from me.
And maybe, deep down, I didn't blame him.
But it didn't make the ache any less.
And in the process of building his new life, he forgot me. He forgot that he even had a sister who still waits for him.
Sometimes, I wanted to scream. I wanted to demand answers from the universe, from my parents, from him. I wanted to ask why I'm never enough.....Why I'm always the one left behind.....Why love in this house always felt like something to earn instead of something to receive.
I had learned long ago that showing emotion only made things worse. If I cried, they would call me dramatic. If I expressed pain, they would roll their eyes or laugh. If I dared to speak the truth, they would twist it into blame. They would never understand.
They didn't want a child to love, to cherish, or to comfort when things got hard. They wanted something else entirely....a prize... symbol of success. A reflection of their pride. They wanted someone to display to the world.
But I wasn't a trophy.
It was just me.
And for them, that had never been enough.
The words Mumma had hurled at me still echoed in my mind, lingering like a cruel whisper I couldn't silence. "It would be better if you were never born."
I closed my eyes, and for a second, I believed her.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe if I had never been born, they would have been free. They could have divorced long ago, moved on with their lives, found whatever peace they had been chasing. I wouldn't have tied them together like an invisible thread they never asked for.
Because I wasn't a bridge that brought them closer.
I was a wound, a needle pricking at the fabric of their lives, holding them in a bond neither of them wanted.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, searching for anything that proved I belonged here. But all I saw was emptiness staring back at me.
My eyes looked tired....my face felt unfamiliar and the emptiness staring back at me made my chest feel even heavier.
"I... I need Kabir...I want to talk to him" I whispered to no one in particular, my voice fragile and shaking. He was the only one who ever made me feel seen. The only one who ever made me feel like I mattered.
With trembling fingers, I picked up my phone and scrolled through the contacts until I reached his name. I tapped it and pressed the phone to my ear, praying he would answer.
The call rang and rang until it went to voicemail.
Maybe he is busy, I told myself. He had mentioned something about being caught up with work earlier. I clung to that thought, holding it like a lifeline.
I tried again.
And again.
And again.
Each time the call rang out, a little more hope chipped away from inside me. I called him more than thirty times, desperately waiting for him to pick up. But the screen only lit up with rejection and silence.
Maybe he is busy, He always says I behave stubbornly and should be mature but I craved love, that he gave to me.
But now... his behavior, it feels like he's changed. A strange distance has crept in, one I can't quite explain.
No, no, no... what am I thinking? Am I being ridiculous? Stupid?
How could I even think of something like this?
He loves me....he loves me. He said it so many times, whispered it into my ear like a promise. He made me feel special, safe, wanted. He wouldn't lie to me. Right?
Yes....yes. He loves me.
I sat down slowly, wrapping my arms tightly around myself. I started stroking my hair with one hand, gently and rhythmically, the way I had always imagined a mother might comfort her child. There was no one else to do it for me. Just me.
My eyes fluttered shut as I folded my arms across my chest and did a butterfly hug, pressing firmly into my shoulders, an act of trying to hold myself together, to keep the pieces from falling apart.
My breathing shook, soft and uneven, and I could feel the heaviness settle deeper into my chest.
I just wanted him to call me back just once and to remind me I was still loved....still not alone.
Because deep down... I knew....I knew better than anyone that there was no one here for me.
Next morning
I woke up with a throbbing headache, the kind that settles behind your eyes and refuses to leave. My head felt heavy, probably from all the crying I had done the night before. For a moment, I stayed still, letting the silence of the room wrap around me like a heavy blanket. Then, with a slow breath, I reached for my phone, my fingers trembling slightly with hope.
I unlocked the screen, eyes scanning quickly for a missed call, a single message, anything from Kabir. But there was nothing. No notifications. No replies. Just the blank screen staring back at me. A dull ache curled in my chest, not loud or dramatic, but deep and quiet, like something tightening with each second of silence.
I tried to push the feeling away. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he had a long day and fell asleep without checking his phone. I kept repeating those words in my mind like a chant, hoping they would offer comfort. I wanted to believe it was nothing. Just a delay. Just a missed moment.
I got up and moved through my morning routine, brushing my teeth, splashing cold water on my face, tying my hair loosely. I chose a soft pink kurti, something light and simple, and paired it with my usual mom jeans. There was something reassuring about dressing up, even if no one noticed. It made me feel like I had some control, even in the middle of so much uncertainty.
When I walked downstairs, the house greeted me with silence. This silence was thick and cold, the kind that pressed against my skin. Mom was in the kitchen, moving about quietly. Dad was sitting on the sofa, flipping through a newspaper with a blank expression.
Neither of them looked at me nor spoke. It was like they existed in two separate bubbles, just moving around each other, lost in thoughts.
"I'm going to meet Janvi. I'll be a little late," I said, trying to keep my voice calm and even.
Mom didn't look up from what she was doing. "No," she said flatly. "If you have something to talk about, tell her to come here."
I felt the familiar tension rise in my chest. "Mom, why does she always have to come all the way here? Her house is quite far. I'll be back soon, I promise."
She scoffed, not even trying to hide the annoyance in her tone. "If you've already made up your mind, then why ask me at all? Just go wherever you want, do whatever you want. You seem to think you're some queen anyway."
Her words stung more than I expected, but I bit down the sharp reply that rose in my throat. I knew better than to argue further. I simply turned around and walked away without another word.
If I had stayed there even a second longer, I was afraid I might break.
Important: Read the authors note below
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Author's note
It's just the first chapter, and I've already poured out over 3900+ words. Are you guys happy now, huh?
I was sobbing while writing this, and my heart goes out to anyone who related to it. I'm so sorry you had to go through that, and even more sorry that you had to bear it alone.
You're a strong girl, never forget that.
Sending you lots and lots of love, munchkin❤️
Lastly, thank you for giving this story a chance, I will really appreciate it if you guys leave a VOTE AND COMMENT. Please don't forget to follow me on insta for spoilers.
Insta- olly_writess
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