Zoya was in Class 10 She was one of those students everyone knew.

She was brilliant, beautiful, well-mannered, and loved by everyone around her. She lived in our aunt’s colony, where almost everyone knew her. She had three sisters, and from the outside, her life seemed completely ordinary…maybe even perfect.

She was the kind of girl parents pointed at when they wanted their children to study harder.

Look at Zoya. She studies so well.

She is so disciplined.

She never misses her prayers.

And that last part was especially true.

Zoya was very close to her deen. She prayed five times a day. She read the Quran. She seemed to have a strong connection with her faith.

Everything looked fine.

Until one day, it wasn't.

After praying Asr, Zoya went to the terrace.

And then she jumped from 6th floor.

No one saw what happened before that. No one knew what she was thinking. There was no explanation waiting for everyone afterward.

Only one person happened to witness it.

He saw her fall directly in front of him, but he couldn't scream. His voice simply got stuck in his throat. He eventually lost consciousness, and when people tried to ask him what he had seen….whether there had been someone else on the terrace, whether Zoya had been alone…he struggled to speak.

And that's the part that stays with me.

Not because I think there is some mysterious explanation.

But because there isn't one.

I don't know why she did it.

And perhaps nobody ever will.

That's what scares me the most.

We often think we know people because we see them every day. We see them studying, laughing, praying, talking to their families. We look at someone's life from the outside and assume we understand it.

But we don't.

Sometimes the person everyone calls strong is fighting something nobody knows about.

Sometimes the person everyone uses as an example is struggling silently.

And sometimes, there are questions that remain unanswered no matter how desperately we want an explanation.

Honestly, I still don’t understand.

She was so young.

She was a child.

I keep thinking about how she was supposed to be preparing for her board exams, talking to her sisters, praying, reading the Quran, laughing with her friends…just living her life.

Instead, her story ended far too early.

I don’t know what happened inside her. I don’t know what pain she was carrying, or whether anyone could have noticed it.

Maybe that’s why this incident has stayed with me.

Because sometimes we look at someone and see everything they are on the outside, while knowing nothing about the battles they might be fighting inside.

I heard what happened, and I haven’t been able to sleep properly since.

Not because I want to know the details.

I just keep wondering….

How could a child have been hurting so much, and nobody knew?

Maybe we should ask people how they really are.

Maybe we should listen a little more carefully.

Because sometimes “I’m fine” is only what someone knows how to say.

It made me realize how little we can truly know about another person's heart.

So maybe we should stop assuming that someone is okay simply because they look okay.

Maybe we should ask.

Maybe we should listen.

And maybe, sometimes, instead of telling someone how perfect their life looks, we should simply ask them:

Are you really okay?

Because we may never know what someone is carrying quietly.

Dear future me,

I wonder where you are right now while reading this.

Are you sitting somewhere quiet? Maybe in that house we always talked about? The one in the mountains, where the air is cold and clean and the only sounds are the wind and our stupid laughter.

I really hope you're there.

And I hope you're still you.

That is what I want to ask you the most did you stay soft?

I am so scared of growing up and becoming someone I don't recognize. I don't want to become arrogant.

I don't want success to make me rude. I don't want my education to make me look down on people. I don't want money to make me forget how hard life can be. I don't want this world to make me cold.

I want to stay the girl who loves people even with all their flaws. The girl who doesn't want to be jealous of anyone. The girl who wants to help those who have less. The girl who just wants to leave a little light wherever she goes.

So if you're reading this after you have achieved everything we ever wanted, please remember this…. you were once a girl who was terrified that success would steal your softness.

Please don't let it.

Be highly educated. Be successful. Travel the entire world, go see all those places I've only seen in pictures. Build that life we keep imagining. Be pretty, be confident, be independent be everything you want to be.

But still be kind to the person serving your food. Still remember the people who were there when you had nothing. Still give when you can. Still make people feel safe around you. Still have a heart that notices when someone else is hurting.

And please, don't lose the part of you that gets amazed by small things. I hope it still makes you happy when someone remembers you. That little feeling in your chest when someone says, "I saw this and thought of you" I think that's one of the sweetest ways to be loved. I hope you still feel that.

And what about the anxiety? Did you learn how to live with it? Did you finally stop being scared of everything?

I hope you did. But if you haven't figured it all out yet, don't be disappointed in yourself. You were always trying. And maybe growing up was never about becoming fearless. Maybe it was just learning that you can be scared and still keep walking.

And then there's that life I secretly imagine all the time.

I wonder, do you have him?

That tall, nerdy, handsome man we used to make up in our head. The one who is completely obsessed with you but still knows how to respect you. The loyal one. The one who knows not just your favorite things, but the tiny things you never say out loud.

The one who is soft-hearted too. Who respects people no matter who they are. Who is close to his deen.

Maybe he's sitting beside you right now. Maybe you're both in that mountain house doing absolutely nothing. Just sitting together, laughing at the dumbest joke that wouldn't make sense to anyone else.

Maybe there's tea. Maybe it's raining outside. Maybe you're arguing about something so ridiculous and then laughing about it five seconds later.

And maybe, after all the studying and travelling and achieving and becoming, your favourite part of life is still just this having someone next to you with whom peace feels natural.

I hope your home feels like that Peaceful Warm Safe a place where you don't have to perform or prove anything. A place where you can just exist.

And if you have all this now, I hope you never take it for granted And if you don't that's okay too Please don't think you've failed me.

There is so much life between the girl writing this and the woman reading it. You probably became someone I can't even imagine yet. Maybe you changed your dreams. Maybe some people left. Maybe some stayed. Maybe you went to places we haven't even heard of yet. Maybe you became softer. Maybe you became stronger. Maybe both.

Whatever happened, I hope you're proud of yourself.

And I hope when you look back at me, you don't think I was silly for dreaming this much. Because I am dreaming a lot right now.

So future me, if somewhere along the way you became too busy, too proud, too harsh, or too tired to notice the little things come back. Come back to this girl. She knew exactly who she wanted you to become.

Not perfect. Just kind. Just soft. Just full of light.

And if you're in that mountain house right now, with the person you love beside you, laughing over something incredibly stupid then maybe we really did it. Maybe this little dream wasn't so impossible after all.

Please stay soft. That's all I ask.

Love,

The girl who is still becoming you ♡

I can't imagine my world without them.

I grew up in a joint family, surrounded by cousins, and somehow I became the only daughter. No sisters. Only me.

And maybe because I was the only girl, I ended up with fifteen brothers.

Fifteen boys who decided it was their lifelong job to love me, protect me, pamper me, annoy me, embarrass me, listen to all my nonsense, and make sure I never, ever feel alone.

They are not just my brothers.

They are my childhood. My safest place. My little pieces of home.

I didn't realize how deeply they loved me until I grew a little older.

When life feels too heavy, I know exactly where I want to go. To them.

I remember running to my brother once, unable to hold my tears anymore. I just hugged him and cried. He didn't ask me what happened. He didn't make me explain. He just held me until I could breathe again.

And then, like only a brother can, he cracked some stupid joke until I had no choice but to smile.

That's what I love most about them. They don't always need a reason for my tears. Sometimes they just sit beside me, quietly, until the tears pass.

They have always been my shield. I just didn't know it when I was little.

Once, I got angry and told them dramatically, "You all never care about me. You only think about yourselves!"

They smiled. "Why do you think that?"

"Then tell me, what do you even do for me?"

They smiled again and said, "You'll get your answer when you become a big girl."

I thought they were avoiding my question.

Now I know they weren't. They were just letting time answer for them.

Because growing up taught me to notice what I had once missed.

When I was younger, something happened at school that hurt me so much I had to leave that school. Years later, I had to go back there for some work. I didn't think much of it.

But they remembered.

They couldn't be there themselves, so they quietly sent their friends to be there for me. Not to control where I went. Not to decide for me. They just remembered that this place had once hurt me.

At first, I thought some creepy people were following me. 😭

I told my brother about it, completely panicked.

He just laughed and said,

“Don't worry about anything.”

And I later found out that those “creepy people” were literally his friends making sure I was safe.

And somewhere in their hearts there was only one thought: She shouldn't have to face it alone.

I only found out later. That's how they love me. Quietly. Without announcements. Without ever asking for credit. They just make sure I'm okay.

Sometimes I really think they have a secret department dedicated just to me.

Their love shows up in the most unexpected places.

One has my picture on his phone keyboard. Another keeps my picture in his wallet. One has me in his Instagram bio. And one brother's phone is practically a museum of me just my pictures and videos.

Like, bro, don't you have anything else in your gallery?

But secretly, those things make my heart so warm. I never asked them to carry me with them. They just do.

And then there are the small, everyday things. The things I would have forgotten if I hadn't stopped to look back.

My big brother always does the mehndi on my right hand on Eid, because I spend the whole day putting mehndi on everyone else and forget myself. So he does it for me.

My little brother once saved his money to buy something for himself. I casually mentioned I wanted a journal. The next day, that journal was in my hands.

One brother has made it a rule whenever he goes out, he has to come back with chocolate for me. No chocolate? Trip unsuccessful.

When I got sick during exams and finally came home, they were waiting with my favorite chocolate. They remembered. They always remember.

At a family function, the sun was falling right on my face. I was complaining but I also wanted to stay and see what was happening. My brother simply placed his hand over my head to shield me.

I felt awkward. "Don't do that, everyone is looking!"

He just said, "Who cares? Just stand there."

That line stayed with me. Who cares?Sometimes love is caring more about your comfort than what the world might think.

I don't walk comfortably in crowds, so they hold my hand. When everyone is standing and there's no chair for me, somehow a chair magically appears. "Sit." No big discussion. No fuss. Just love, disguised as ordinary things.

And whenever I go to them and say, "Do you know what happened?" they put their phones down. They pause their games. Their precious games.

And they listen. To everything. Even the stories that make no sense. Even the stories that go nowhere.

That's the most beautiful thing about being loved having people who care about your stories even when the stories themselves don't matter.

Once I looked at my heels and said, "They have so much dust, it doesn't look good." My brother knelt down and cleaned them with his handkerchief. I didn't ask him to. He just did.

And I thought bro, how am I supposed to find someone who treats me like this after you all have raised my expectations so high?

Because yes, they have spoiled me. Terribly.

Then came my birthday this year. They surprised me. And standing there, surrounded by them, I thought of that little girl who once said, "You never care about me."

I wish I could go back and tell her:

Look again.

Look at the hands that hold yours in crowds.

Look at the chocolates waiting when you come home.

Look at the mehndi on your right hand.

Look at the journal someone bought because you mentioned it once.

Look at the friends they sent so you wouldn't have to be alone where you were once hurt.

Look at the pictures they carry in wallets, keyboards, bios and galleries.

Look at the way they pause their games when you say, "Do you know what happened?"

Look at the hand shielding you from the sun.

Look at the chair they find for you.

Look at the handkerchief cleaning your dusty heels.

Look at the hugs. Look at the silly jokes. Look at everything.

That was their answer. They had been answering me all along. I just wasn't old enough to understand the language.

Because love doesn't always say "I love you."

Sometimes it says, "Here, have some chocolate."

Sometimes it says, "Give me your hand, I'll do your mehndi."

Sometimes it says, "Sit here."

Sometimes it holds your hand in a crowd.

Sometimes it pauses a game.

Sometimes it shields your face from the sun.

Sometimes it quietly makes sure you're safe.

Sometimes it kneels down to clean your dusty heels.

Sometimes it surprises you on your birthday.

And sometimes it's a ridiculous brother kissing your head for the hundredth time even though you've told him five hundred times that you absolutely hate it.

Ughh. I hate it. I really do.

But maybe one day, when he stops doing it, I'll miss it more than I'll ever admit.

That's the strange thing about siblings. They annoy you in ways no one else is allowed to. They steal your peace, tease you, embarrass you, make you scream. They raise your blood pressure.

And yet, when life gets difficult, they are the first people you look for.

My brothers gave me something I don't think I'll ever explain properly.

They gave me the feeling of always having somewhere to go. Somewhere safe. Somewhere I can cry, laugh, be completely ridiculous and still be loved.

They made sure I grew up knowing I was never alone.

And maybe that's why my expectations are so high. How could they not be? I was raised by fifteen boys who taught me, in their own silly and beautiful ways, what it feels like to be truly cared for.

So yes, they've made my expectations dangerously high.

But if I ever complain about it, I'll remember this

I was raised by people who made sure I never had to question whether I was loved.

And honestly, that's one of the greatest gifts life could have ever given me.

My brothers are not perfect. Neither am I.

But they are mine.

And if I could choose my childhood all over again, I would choose these annoying, protective, ridiculous, chocolate-buying, mehndi-applying, game-pausing, forehead kissing boys.

Every single time.

Because before I understood what love was, they were already loving me.

And now that I understand it, I don't think I'll ever stop being grateful.

And perhaps the sweetest part of all is that they don't just let me into their lives they trust me with them.

They tell me their secrets.

They share their worries, their happiness, their silly thoughts, their little problems, and things they don't tell everyone else.

And whenever I do something for them, they look at me and say,

“You're the bestest sister in the world.”

Or,

“You're the bestest person.”

I always smile when they say that.

But honestly?

I don't think I am.

Because how could I be the bestest person when I have been given the bestest people?

They call me their gift.

But they are mine.

The most precious gift life could have given me.

They say I'm the best sister in the world, but I think the world was far kinder to me when it gave me brothers like them.

So if someone ever asks me what my greatest blessing is, I won't have to think very long.

I'll think of fifteen annoying boys.

The ones who, without even realizing it, taught me that there are good men in this world.

And maybe that's why I don't need to say,

“Not all men are bad.”

Because I have spent my entire life knowing that some men can be kind, gentle, protective, trustworthy, and full of love.

I know because I grew up with them.

My brothers.

My first safe place.

My forever people.

And the bestest gift I could have ever received.

THANKS FOR READING 🤍✨

She had been living secretly in her father's empty house for nearly three weeks, following her mother's instructions precisely. During the day, she kept the curtains drawn, she ensured the children stayed away from the windows, and she tried to convince herself that the situation was temporary, that somehow, after a few weeks, everything would settle down and she would figure out what to do next.

But nothing about her life felt normal anymore.

After the divorce, Noor had nowhere to go. Ayaan had thrown her out with two bags and told her not to come back, her father had refused to open the gate when she arrived with the children standing in the heat, and the only person who had shown her any compassion was her mother. Later that night, her mother had called her secretly and told her to return to the empty house and stay there without letting her father know.

Noor still did not understand why.

That night, she still remembered exactly how her mother had sounded on the phone.

mumma, if Papa doesn't want me there, then why are you telling me to go back? He literally locked the gate in my face. Where am I supposed to stay if he finds out I'm there? Noor had asked, trying not to cry in front of her children.

Her mother had been crying on the other end of the phone, and for several seconds she had not answered at all.

Then she had whispered, I know what he did, Noor. I know. But tell me, where else will you take those children tonight? You can't keep standing outside with their bags, and you can't go back to Ayaan.

I know that, Noor had said, trying to keep her own voice from breaking. But what am I supposed to do with a house where my father doesn't even want me? What if he comes back?

Just stay there for now. Please.

mumma, you are not answering me. Why are you so worried about Papa finding out? Why are you whispering?

Her mother had gone completely silent, and Noor could hear her breathing heavily, as if she was trying to control her fear.

mumma? Noor had said.

"Please, Noor," her mother had finally said in a voice that sounded like begging. Just listen to me this once. Go back to the house, stay there with the children, and don't tell your father you are there. I will figure something out. I promise I will figure something out.

Noor had wanted to ask a hundred more questions, but she had heard the raw fear in her mother's voice, and she had two children sitting beside her on the footpath with nowhere else to go.

So she had listened.

She went back.

She opened the house.

She brought her children inside.

And for nearly three weeks, nobody came.

At least, nobody she knew of.

That night, her eight-year-old son was lying on the bed while his little sister slept beside him, and he was staring at the ceiling when he suddenly looked at Noor and asked, Mumma, when are we going home?

Noor looked up from the clothes in her lap and tried to smile.

We are home, sweetheart.

He frowned deeply, as if she had not understood his question at all. No, I mean our real home. The one where we used to live with Papa. Where all my things are.

Noor did not answer immediately. She folded the shirt in her hands and placed it beside her very carefully before looking at him.

Why do you want to go there suddenly? she asked.

Because all my things are there, he said.

I know, baby.

My school bag too. And my cycle.

I know, sweetheart.

And my cricket bat. You said you would bring it but you didn't.

Noor smiled faintly, but the smile did not reach her eyes. I remember. I remember everything.

He was quiet for a moment, picking at the blanket, then asked, "Can we go tomorrow and get them? We can go quickly. I will go inside and you can wait outside."

No, Noor said immediately, a little too sharply.

Why not? he asked.

Because things are a little difficult right now, and I don't want you and your sister to get caught in the middle of all of it, she said, searching for words that would not frighten him.

The boy looked at her carefully, studying her face the way children do when they know an adult is hiding something.

Is Papa still angry? he asked.

Noor lowered her eyes and started folding another shirt. He is angry with me, yes. He is very angry with me.

Why is he angry?

Because adults sometimes fight about things they don't know how to fix, and then they say things they should not say.

Did you do something bad, Mummy? he asked, with the kind of innocent bluntness that only an eight-year-old can have.

The question hit harder than he intended it to, and Noor stared at him for a second before she moved closer and sat beside him on the bed.

"No," she said quietly, but firmly. I did not do anything that makes me a bad mother. You should never think that, okay? Never.

He nodded, but he still looked confused, and then he looked around the big, empty room and asked the question she had been dreading for three weeks.

Does Nanu know we are here?

Noor's fingers stopped moving completely.

Why are you asking that suddenly? she asked.

Because this is his house. You told me this is Nana's house, he said.

Yes, it is his house, but he is not here right now, so it is okay.

So he does not know we are here? he asked.

No, he doesn't.

The boy frowned, trying to understand the logic. But how can we stay in his house if he doesn't know? That is not allowed, Mumma.

I know how it sounds, but your Nani told me it was okay for us to stay here, so it is okay, Noor said.

Did Nani ask Nanu if we can stay? he asked.

Noor hesitated for a long second. No, she didn't.

Then what if Nanu comes back and sees us? What will happen?

He won't come back, Noor said quickly.

How do you know he won't come back?

Because I know, okay? I just know. Now enough questions, she said, brushing his hair away from his forehead a little too quickly, a little too nervously.

Her son watched her face for a few seconds without blinking.

You are lying, Mumma, he said.

Noor almost laughed despite herself, because she was so tired. "Excuse me?"

You always say 'it's okay' when you are scared," he said. You say 'it's okay' when it is not okay at all.

For a moment, Noor did not know what to say, because children noticed the things that adults tried desperately to conceal from everyone.

She pulled him closer and kissed the top of his head and held him there.

I promise you, nothing is going to happen to you, she whispered. "Nothing."

He leaned against her, but he was not finished.

Are you scared, Mummy? he asked.

No, my love. I am not scared at all.

Then why do you lock the doors so many times? I counted last night. You locked it three times. And you checked the windows two times.

Noor looked toward the bedroom door, surprised that he had noticed her nightly routine.

I just want to make sure we are safe, she said. That is what mothers do.

Safe from Papa? he asked.

No.

Then from who, Mumma?

Noor looked at him, and for a few seconds, there was no answer she could give him that would make sense to an eight-year-old child, and no answer that would not terrify him.

So she smiled instead and gently pushed him back onto the pillow and pulled the blanket over him.

Enough questions for tonight. Go to sleep now. It is very late.

But Mumma….

Go to sleep, baby.

He sighed dramatically and pulled the blanket over himself, and a few seconds later, he peeked out again from under the blanket with only his eyes showing.

Are you sleeping here tonight? With us? he asked.

Yes, for a little while, she said.

Promise? For the whole night?

Promise, Noor said.

He finally closed his eyes, and Noor stayed beside him for another few minutes, watching both of her children breathe, listening to the quiet house around them.

She wished she could believe the promise she had just made. She wished she could tell them that they were safe.

But somewhere inside her, she already knew she was lying.

A little after midnight, Noor finally went to her own room.

She checked the front door twice before going upstairs, and then she went up and then came back downstairs to check the front door a third time because she could not remember whether she had locked it properly or had only imagined that she had locked it. She hated what she had become, a woman who was constantly looking over her shoulder and constantly listening for footsteps in an empty house, but she was alone in a large house with two children, and she no longer trusted the silence at all.

When she finally lay down, she kept her phone beside her pillow.

There was one unread message from her mother.

Are you inside?

Noor replied immediately, her heart beating faster.

Yes. Why? What happened?

The message showed as delivered.

There was no reply.

She waited for five minutes, and then for ten minutes, staring at the screen, and then she pressed call. The phone rang once before it disconnected, as if someone had cut the call intentionally.

She tried again. This time, the phone was switched off.

Noor stared at the screen for a long time, wondering why her mother had suddenly become so afraid to speak with her, and why she would send such a strange message in the middle of the night.

Then she heard something downstairs.

At first, it was so faint that she thought she had imagined it completely, a soft metallic sound that could have been anything.

Then she heard it again, clearer this time.

Creak.

The sound of the front-door handle moving.

Noor sat upright on the bed and held her breath.

She listened carefully.

There was nothing for almost a minute, and she was about to lie back down and tell herself that she was being paranoid when she heard it again, louder this time.

Creak.

Someone was trying to open the front door.

Noor immediately got out of bed and walked into the hallway. She stood at the top of the stairs, looking down into the darkness, afraid to make even the slightest sound, afraid to even breathe loudly.

Then the front door opened.

It did not open as if it had been broken or forced. It opened smoothly and calmly, as if someone had a key and knew exactly how to use it.

Noor's heart stopped.

Someone had entered the house.

She hurried into the children's room and quietly closed the door behind her and locked it.

Her son was awake and sitting up.

Mumma? he whispered.

"Shh," Noor whispered, pulling both her children close to her in the corner of the bed, away from the door.

Her daughter was still asleep, but the boy stared at her with wide eyes, understanding from her face that something was very wrong.

They both heard the footsteps.

Someone was walking through the house.

Slowly.

Not like a burglar who was searching for something valuable and moving quickly, but like someone who already knew exactly where he was going and did not need to look around.

The footsteps crossed the living room, stopped for a few seconds, and then started again, moving directly toward the staircase.

Noor grabbed both children and pulled them even closer, and she could feel her son's heart beating wildly against her arm.

The footsteps began climbing the stairs, one step at a time, each step making the old wood creak loudly in the absolute silence.

One step. Then another. Then another.

The person reached the hallway and stopped directly outside their room.

The door handle moved slightly, down and then up, as if someone was testing whether it was locked.

Her son squeezed her hand so tightly that it hurt.

Nobody spoke. Nobody breathed.

After several seconds that felt like an eternity, the footsteps moved away from the door. They descended the stairs slowly, and then the front door opened and closed with a soft, final thud.

Noor waited. Five minutes. Then ten minutes, counting silently in her head, too afraid to move.

Finally, she opened the bedroom door a crack and looked into the hallway. The hallway was empty and dark.

She went downstairs on unsteady legs, holding the railing with both hands.

The front door was unlocked and slightly open, and rain had blown across the entrance, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the floor.

Noor stared at them, feeling the blood drain from her face.

The footprints crossed the hallway, went up the stairs, and stopped directly outside the children's bedroom, exactly where the person had stood.

She followed them slowly with her eyes, and then she saw something lying beside the final footprint, something small and red that should not have been there.

A small red hair clip shaped like a strawberry.

Her daughter's favourite hair clip.

Noor picked it up and frowned, because she distinctly remembered placing it in her daughter's hair before bedtime and securing it tightly.

She looked toward the bedroom. Her daughter was still asleep, but the clip was no longer in her hair.

"Mumma," her son said quietly from behind her, and Noor turned around to see him standing in the doorway, staring at the wet footprints on the floor with a pale face.

"What happened?" he whispered.

Noor knelt in front of him.

What did you see? she asked.

He stared at the footprints.

I saw him, he said.

Noor's expression tightened. Who did you see?

The man. The man who came inside.

What man? What did he look like?

Her son shook his head. I don't know. It was dark.

You saw him? Really saw him?

He nodded slowly. He spoke to me.

What did he say? Noor asked, her voice barely audible.

The boy looked toward the staircase, as if he was afraid the man was still standing there.

Then he whispered, He said your name, Mumma.

A cold shiver ran through Noor's entire body.

How do you know he knew me? What exactly did he say? she asked.

The boy did not answer immediately. Instead, he looked at his mother with an expression she had never seen on his face before, a deep, adult fear that did not belong on an eight-year-old child.

Then he lowered his voice even more.

He wasn't alone, Mumma.

Noor stared at him, feeling her fingers go completely cold. What do you mean he wasn't alone?

The boy looked toward the staircase again, toward the darkness at the bottom of the stairs.

There was a lady with him, he whispered. She was standing down here, and she told him where we were sleeping. She told him we were in that room.

Noor could not speak. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

For the first time since entering that house, she wondered whether her mother had truly sent her there because it was the only place she could go, or whether there had been another reason entirely, a reason that nobody had ever told her.

She looked at the staircase, then at the locked front door, then at her son.

And somewhere downstairs, in the empty house that was supposed to protect them, a floorboard creaked again, loudly, even though there was no one standing on it.

Noor pulled both children into her arms and held them tightly against her chest.

She did not sleep for the rest of the night.

Three days later, she was dead.

And her son would be the only person who knew that the man who entered the house that night had not come alone, and that someone had told him exactly where to find them.

TO BE CONTINUED...

WHAT DO YOU THINK GUYSS???

Who was the woman who entered Noor’s house that night?

Why did Noor’s son remember seeing a woman with the man, but couldn’t see her face clearly?

And why did she seem to know that Noor was staying in that house?

Was she really a stranger… or have we already met her?

Because if you go back to the very beginning, there’s one woman who somehow knew way too much about what happened inside that house.

So tell me…

Where do you think Meher really was that night? 👀

And what if the story she told us in Chapter 1 wasn’t the whole truth?

PLEASE DROP A COMMENT……

THANKS FOR READING🤍🌷

I thought I had grown out of it. I thought the version of me who used to suffocate beneath the weight of her own thoughts had finally been left behind. I thought I had become someone else… someone steadier, someone who knew how to exist inside her own mind without constantly feeling like she was drowning in it.

And then, for the last couple of months, it came back.

No warning. No explanation. No dramatic moment I could point to and say, This is where it started.

Just panic.

The kind that arrives in the middle of an ordinary day and makes everything unfamiliar.

I could be sitting on the edge of my bed. Staring at a blank screen. Doing absolutely nothing. Just existing in a quiet room.

And suddenly, the air changes.

My chest tightens. My breathing becomes something I have to think about. The room feels smaller. My own body starts feeling like a place I don't know how to escape.

And somewhere between I can't breathe and please make this stop, my mind takes me somewhere darker.

I start hating myself.

Not gently. Not in the way people casually say they hate themselves after a bad day.

I mean a deep, frightening kind of self-hatred… the kind that makes me want to disappear from myself completely.

For a few terrifying moments, all I can think is:

I just want to leave.

I want to put down the weight.

I want to escape this body that suddenly feels like a trap.

And then something inside me pulls back.

I don't know what to call it.

Maybe it's hope. Maybe it's instinct. Maybe it's simply the part of me that refuses to believe this is all my life is going to be.

Because underneath the desperate urge to disappear, there is another voice.

A stubborn one.

A quiet one.

It reminds me that my life is worth holding onto.

That I am not something meant to be thrown away because I am hurting.

That there are still things I haven't seen, places I haven't been, people I haven't met, mornings I haven't woken up to, songs I haven't heard at the right moment, versions of myself I haven't become yet.

There is still so much life I haven't touched.

And somehow, that is both comforting and exhausting.

Because how do you explain the contradiction of wanting to disappear and wanting to live so fiercely at the exact same time?

How can both things be true?

I don't know.

I just know that they are.

And I am tired.

God, I am so tired.

I am tired of being this sensitive.

I hate how much I care.

Why do I remember every passing word? Why does a look stay in my head for hours? Why can one small change in someone's tone make me question everything? Why do I carry things that were never mine to carry in the first place?

Sometimes it feels like I walk through the world without any skin.

Everything touches me.

Everything gets in.

Someone once told me I wasn't bad. That I was just “too pure” for this world.

I wanted to believe them.

But standing here now, still feeling the aftermath of another panic attack, drenched in sweat and confusion, those words don't feel comforting.

They feel almost cruel.

Because I don't feel pure.

I feel difficult.

I feel like a burden even to myself.

And maybe the hardest part is not knowing why.

I don't know what happened to me.

I don't know why something I thought I had overcome found its way back into my life.

I don't know why my own mind can feel like both my home and the place I most desperately want to escape.

I don't have a beautiful conclusion for this.

I don't have a lesson.

I don't have a five-step guide to healing.

I don't want to turn my pain into a motivational quote just because the internet likes stories that end neatly.

The truth is much less beautiful.

I am exhausted.

I am tired of fighting for air in my own room.

I am tired of waking up and wondering which version of myself I will have to live with today.

I am tired of pretending that because I survived something once, I should know how to survive it forever.

But despite all of that…

I am still here.

The panic came.

The hatred came.

The confusion came.

And somehow, I stayed.

I am still sitting here.

Still breathing.

Still forcing air into lungs that sometimes feel like they have forgotten how to work.

I don't understand myself right now.

Maybe I don't have to.

Maybe staying doesn't always have to look brave.

Maybe sometimes staying is nothing more than sitting quietly through the worst moment and waiting for it to loosen its grip.

Maybe tonight, surviving doesn't need to mean believing everything will be okay.

Maybe it only needs to mean refusing to let the worst moment make the decision for the rest of my life.

I don't know who I am becoming.

I don't even fully recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror.

But she is still here.

And for tonight, that has to be enough…..

I don't usually have the courage to say what I feel.

Most of the time, I don't even know how to explain it. I feel something so deeply, but when I try to put it into words, everything becomes tangled. I don't know where to begin. I don't know what to call it. Sometimes I don't even know if what I'm feeling makes sense.

Today, I couldn't explain it either.

So I just wrote it.

I wrote whatever came to me, even when it was messy, even when it scared me, even when I didn't know what the next sentence was going to be.

And I don't know how to explain this feeling either.

But after writing all of it down, I feel a little lighter.

Not okay.

Not healed.

Just… lighter.

Maybe that's all I needed today… to finally let some of it exist outside of me.

jiyaa🌷

The news of Noor’s death didn’t just stay in that locked room. It leaked out into the neighborhood like a stain, and within hours, everyone on the street knew.

With Noor lying cold on the floor and her two little kids crying in the hallway, the neighbors did what anyone would do they looked for her family. They tracked down her father’s phone number and called him to tell him that his daughter was gone.

They expected panic. They expected tears.

Instead, her father’s voice was complete ice. He didn’t hesitate for a single second.

“She is not my daughter,” he told the neighbor over the phone. “Buried her. Do whatever you want with the body. I am not coming to see her face.”

He hung up. Just like that, he disowned her a second time, even in death. He left his own daughter’s body stranded in an empty house, treated like a stranger by the very man who brought her into the world.

The neighborhood was in shock. There was no family to claim her, no relatives coming to wash her body, and no one to organize the funeral. Her mother was stuck in that other city, completely silent, trapped under the thumb of a husband who had already erased Noor from his life.

In the end, it was the people in the society who stepped up. The neighbors, the strangers, the people who barely knew her they became her family for a day. They pulled their own money together, bought the burial shroud, and arranged everything. The entire society gathered to bury Noor, carrying her coffin to the graveyard while her own blood relatives stayed hundreds of miles away, pretending she never existed.

Watching all of this happen from our house made my stomach twist into knots.

Every time I looked out the window and saw the neighbors talking in hushed voices, all I could think about was Ayaan sitting on our couch the afternoon before. I kept thinking about the legal papers spread out between him and my uncle.

If Ayaan was secretly in town plotting his custody case, he obviously knew his kids were hidden in that house. Did he know his ex-wife was dead before the neighbors even broke the door down? Is that why he suddenly vanished to Mumbai right after to create a perfect alibi while the neighborhood handled the burial?

But the scariest part wasn’t just Ayaan. It was my own family.

My uncle knew Ayaan was here. He sat with him, drank tea with him, and helped him right before everything went dark.I looked at my uncle across the dinner table that night, casually eating his food like nothing had happened, and a terrifying thought crossed my mind.

My family wasn’t just watching this mystery unfold. They were actively helping hide the man at the center of it.

After the society buried Noor, the silence that settled over our neighborhood was heavy. It was the kind of quiet that feels fragile, like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But my mind was stuck on the two kids. They were eight and five old enough to understand that their mother wasn’t waking up, but too young to comprehend the cruelty of a locked door.

With Noor gone and her father refusing to even look at her coffin, the children were left completely unprotected. And that is exactly when Ayaan’s “Mumbai alibi” served its ultimate purpose. Because he was officially hundreds of miles away when she died, his hands looked entirely clean to the outside world. He returned from his supposed work trip as the grieving, single father, legally entitled to take his children.

Within days of the funeral, the kids were quietly packed into a car and taken away. The custody battle they were whispering about in our living room was over before it even began. Ayaan got exactly what he wanted.

That thought made the room feel cold. I couldn’t shake the image of my uncle shuffling those legal documents on the coffee table just a day before Noor’s heart stopped.

I finally couldn’t take it anymore. A few nights after the burial, when the house was quiet, I brought it up to my mom in the kitchen. My voice was shaking, but I told her everything how Mehr had lied about Mumbai, and how I had seen Ayaan right here on our couch talking to my uncle the afternoon before the tragedy.

My mom didn’t look shocked. She just looked incredibly tired.

She sat me down and explained the harsh reality of the situation. My family wasn’t hiding a murderer. They weren’t part of some dark, malicious conspiracy. The truth was much more ordinary, and in a way, much heavier.

In our society, when a marriage shatters and accusations of an affair start flying, a woman is often stripped of her humanity. Noor’s father had already condemned her. Ayaan was aggressive, powerful, and relentless about getting his children back. My uncle didn’t know Noor was going to die the next day nobody did. He was just caught in the middle of a messy, toxic family breakdown, trying to help a man he knew navigate a legal custody battle.

My family operates the way most families do here…. you try to help the people you know handle their crises, hoping to keep the peace, without realizing how dark the undercurrents actually run. They weren’t wrong; they were just blind to what was coming. They treated it like a standard, ugly divorce dispute. They had no idea that a day later, a bedroom door would be bolted from the inside.

But that is exactly what makes this so terrifying.

The system worked perfectly for Ayaan. The postmortem report said unknown causes. The locked windows and bolted door kept the police at bay. The fabricated Mumbai alibi kept his name out of the neighborhood gossip. And my own family’s standard, well-meaning helpfulness accidentally provided the perfect cover for his timing.

Noor was erased by her father, buried by strangers, and her children were carried off by the very man she swore she would die before giving them to. Everything fell perfectly into place for him.

And as I sat in our living room looking at the empty couch where he had been whispering just days ago, I realized the darkest truth of all: sometimes, you don’t need to leave a trace to destroy someone. You just have to pressure them until the walls close in, and let the silence do the rest

But the silence didn’t last long.

Last night, I went out to the local market to pick up some groceries. The street was dark, and the neighborhood felt completely abandoned after everything that happened. As I was walking past the narrow alleyway behind Noor’s empty house, I saw the silhouette of a man standing in the shadows, smoking a cigarette.

I slowed my pace, trying not to make a sound.

The moonlight hit his face, and my heart completely stopped. It wasn’t Ayaan. It was Noor’s lover the man everyone blamed for ruining her marriage. He was looking up at the locked bedroom window where Noor had been found dead.

Suddenly, a car pulled up at the corner of the alley, its headlights cutting through the darkness. The door opened, and a man stepped out.

It was Ayaan.

I ducked behind a brick wall, my breath caught in my throat. I expected a fight. I expected blood. Instead, Ayaan walked straight up to Noor’s lover, patted him casually on the shoulder, and handed him a heavy, thick envelope. The lover took it, slipped it into his jacket pocket, and nodded.

They weren’t enemies fighting over a woman. The envelope crinkled and then both of them looked up at Noor’s locked bedroom window at the exact same time…

In the car behind them, the interior lights was stilll on and i could see two littles head in the backseats, not moving.

TO BE CONTINUED……

The real nightmare is just beginning.

Why is Noor’s lover taking money from the ex-husband? Drop your theories in the comments below.

Make sure to subscribe right now so Chapter 3 lands straight in your inbox the second it goes live. You won’t want to miss what happens when the real truth comes out.

THANKS FOR READING..🤍✨

Jiyaa🌷

My mom went to open it. I stayed on the couch, but I leaned forward to see who it was.

And it was Mehr. She’s the older bahu of a family we know well. My mom knew her right away, but she couldn’t even say hello because Mehr looked completely unraveled. Her face was totally pale, she was breathing heavily, and she kept looking around the hallway like she was terrified or trying to hide from someone.

I’m not a superstitious person or anything, but the exact second I saw her face, I just got this really weird, heavy feeling in my stomach. My brain didn’t know what was wrong yet, but my gut did.

My mom took one look at Mehr’s shaking hands and grabbed her by the shoulder. What happened?

Mehr choked on her own breath, her voice barely a whisper. “Noor mar gayi hai.”

My mom froze. “WHAT”

“How? When?!”

The story came out in frantic, disjointed pieces, and the more Mehr talked, the more the room felt like it was losing oxygen.

She told us that her brother-in-law, Ayaan, and his wife, Noor, had just gone through a brutal divorce. The reason, Mehr claimed, was that Noor had been caught having an affair with another man.

That part threw me completely. In our neighborhood, word gets around, and from everything I had ever heard, Ayaan and Noor were the perfect couple. Two kids an eight-year-old and a five-year-old…..a beautiful home, and a life that looked completely solid from the outside. But Mehr insisted Ayaan had found out about the cheating and instantly cut Noor off, throwing her out.

With nowhere else to go, Noor took the kids and dragged their bags all the way to her father’s house.

But when she got to the front gate, there was a heavy padlock hanging from the iron bars.

Terrified, Noor called her dad. His voice on the line was pure ice. We moved to another city, he told her.We don’t want to see your face ever again. As far as we’re concerned, we don’t have a daughter.

The rejection completely broke Noor. She was stranded outside with her kids and all their bags, sobbing. But later, her mother called her back in secret, crying because she couldn’t watch her daughter shatter.Her mother whispered over the phone. Listen to me. Just go back, open the house, and stay there. Just don’t ever let your father find out.

So, Noor lived there like a ghost, hidden away in that empty, dark house with her two small children. For a few weeks, it was dead silent.

Until three nights ago.

A neighbor, glancing out their window late at night, noticed the silhouette of a man slipping through the side gate and disappearing into the house. The neighbor didn’t think much of it, assuming it was private family business, and went back to bed.

The next morning, the silence was shattered by the sound of the kids crying. It wasn’t normal crying it was a frantic, hysterical sobbing that bled through the walls and into the street.

The same neighbor went over to check on them. They found the five-year-old and eight-year-old sitting on the floor outside the master bedroom, their faces stained with tears. Mummy isn’t opening the door, the older one choked out. She won’t wake up.

The neighbors banged on the heavy wood. They shouted Noor’s name. Nothing. Just the hollow sound of their own fists echoing back at them.

Panicking, two men from the street threw their shoulders against the frame until the bolt gave way and the door crashed inward.

Noor was lying flat on the floor by the side of the bed. Perfectly still.

Dead.

But when the police arrived, the mystery only got darker. There wasn’t a single drop of blood. There were no marks around her neck to suggest a struggle or a hanging. There were no empty pill bottles, no signs of forced entry, and every single window was locked tightly from the inside. The bedroom door had been bolted from the inside too.

Even the official postmortem report came back completely blank. No poison in her system, no internal trauma, no heart failure. The official cause of death was written down as a single, chilling word: Unknown.

Mehr leaned closer to my mom, her voice dropping so low I had to strain to hear it. She said that on the night of Noor’s death, Ayaan had called the house, screaming at her about a custody battle. At the exact same time, the “other man” had shown up at the door. A massive, explosive three-way fight broke out over the phone and in the room. Noor had screamed back, I will die before I give you my kids!

A few hours later, she was gone.

My mom, visibly shaken, looked at Mehr. Where is Ayaan now? Is he back home with the children?

Mehr’s entire demeanor changed in a split second. She instantly broke eye contact, her gaze dropping to the floor. Her fingers began nervously twisting the edge of her dupatta, her posture stiffening.

No, no, Mehr stammered, her voice suddenly tight and thin. He’s not here. He’s away in Mumbai For work.

We believed her. We gave her water, comforted her, and let her leave. We felt a deep, heavy sadness for a family torn apart by a tragedy that made no sense.

But yesterday, the whole story completely broke.

I was sitting in the kitchen helping my mom, and as we were talking about Noor, my brain suddenly traced back to the afternoon before Mehr ever knocked on our door.

A cold sweat broke out across my neck. My stomach literally turned over.

The day before Noor was found dead…..the exact night Mehr claimed Ayaan was hundreds of miles away in Mumbai for work…….I had walked into our living room to grab my charger.

And Ayaan was sitting right there on our sofa.

He was huddled in a hushed, intense conversation with my uncle. They had legal papers spread across the coffee table, their voices low and sharp, arguing about the custody case. When I walked in, they both snapped their mouths shut and my uncle quickly shuffled the papers together, trying to look casual.

At the time, I didn’t think twice about it. It was just Ayaan visiting my uncle.

But now, connecting the dots, the timeline didn’t make any sense. Mehr stood in our house after the murder and swore up and down that Ayaan was already in Mumbai when Noor died. But he wasn’t. He was right here, in our house, plotting his next move just hours before she stopped breathing.

If he was supposed to be in Mumbai, why was he secretly at my house the day before? How did he suddenly “vanish” to Mumbai right as she died?

And why did Mehr look my mother straight in the eye and completely fabricate a fake alibi to hide the fact that he was in town?

Thanks for reading Chapter 1🤍🌷.

Honestly, writing this out makes my hands shake all over again, but I couldn’t keep this story to myself anymore.

If you want to know what happened next….. the terrifying truth about how Noor actually died...

Drop a comment below and let me know your theories.

Make sure to subscribe so Chapter 2 lands straight in your inbox the second it goes live. You won’t want to miss what comes next.

Years slipped away like rainwater down a street drain. Palki had packed her life into two large suitcases and moved to a bustling new city to pursue her higher studies. In the rush of adult life, lectures, and new responsibilities, the memory of her high school days had slowly faded. She had learned to live a normal, quiet life. Yet, deep within her heart, there was an untouched corner reserved entirely for the memory of an ordinary August and a tiny, hidden sliver of hope that the universe might one day let her see her quiet guardian again.

The university campus was massive and absolutely breathtaking, filled with high stone arches, lush green lawns, and the energetic buzz of thousands of students. Palki felt a thrill of pure excitement wash over her as she walked through the gates on her first day. She was ready for a fresh start.

On the night of the freshman orientation party, the main auditorium was packed with a chaotic mix of nervous first-years and loud seniors. Palki noticed a girl standing near the refreshment table, looking completely overwhelmed and utterly confused by the massive crowd. Moving on pure instinct, Palki walked over and struck up a conversation.

The girl’s name was Sara.

By the time the party ended, the two of them were laughing like they had known each other for years. Palki felt an instant, deep sense of comfort around Sara—it felt exactly like finding a childhood friend in a room full of strangers. But every time Palki looked at Sara’s face, a strange sense of familiarity tugged at her mind. Sara had a warm, friendly behaviour and remarkably kind, expressive dark eyes that felt beautifully familiar, though Palki couldn’t quite place why.

As the weeks rolled by, everything went incredibly well. They became the best of friends, navigating the huge campus together.

True to her old nature, a rainy Tuesday morning found Palki running terribly behind schedule. She sprinted across the slick campus plaza, her backpack zippers clinking wildly, and slid into the lecture hall just seconds before the professor began. She exhaled a breath of pure relief and slumped into the empty seat Sara had carefully saved for her.

Sara leaned over, a soft smile on her face. Late again, Palki?

My alarm completely failed to go off, Palki muttered back under her breath, recycling her classic excuse as she frantically pulled out her notebook.

Once the exhausting class finally came to an end, both girls packed their bags, starving and ready to head toward the university cafeteria. They stepped out into the crowded corridor, chatting happily.

Sara! Sara, wait up. Where are you going?

A smooth, deep voice called out from directly behind them.

The sound cut through the noisy hallway like a knife. Palki froze dead in her tracks, her entire body going completely numb. Her heart did a sudden, violent, and chaotic flip against her ribs. It was a voice she hadn’t heard in years, yet she would recognize its comforting, low cadence anywhere in the world.

She slowly, breathlessly turned around.

It was him. It was Shad.

Palki’s breath completely caught in her throat. She stood there, utterly and entirely shocked, the crowded hallway fading into a blur of distant static. He had grown taller, his shoulders broader, and the boyish look from high school had transitioned into a breathtaking, mature handsomeness. He looked effortlessly striking.

Shad walked straight past Palki, his focus entirely on the girl beside her. He adjusted his backpack strap and looked down at Sara with a look of deep, familiar care. Did you eat something yet? I told you to wait for me before heading out.

Palki stood completely frozen, a cold, painful knot tightening in her stomach. The gentle, close way he spoke to Sara, the protective stance he took next to her it all screamed one thing. She is his girlfriend. The thought hit Palki like a physical blow, making her throat feel completely dry and her chest ache with a sudden, devastating weight.

Sara laughed, stepping closer to him. I was just heading to the cafeteria! Shad, wait, let me introduce you to my new friend.

Sara turned, gently gesturing toward Palki. Shad, meet Palki.

Shad turned his head, his dark eyes finally locking directly onto Palki’s face. He looked at her with a completely serious, unreadable expression. There was no instant smirk. No dimples cutting into his cheeks. No sudden, playful flicker of recognition. He just stared at her like she was a complete stranger.

Hi, Palki, Shad said. His voice was smooth and polite, but it carried a formal, quiet distance that made the air between them feel freezing cold.

Palki opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She remained completely silent, her heart shattering into a million pieces as she stared at his serious face. He wasn’t her annoying first-bench boy anymore. He didn’t check his watch, and he didn’t call her Papaya.

The realization hit her with a terrible, heartbreaking clarity: He didn’t just move on with a girlfriend. He completely forgot about me.

Palki didn’t wait for another cold, polite word to leave his mouth. She couldn’t. Turn around, she practically bolted down the crowded corridor, her backpack heavy against her shoulders.

Palki! Palki, wait! Where are you going? Sara’s confused voice called out from behind her, echoing off the high lockers, but Palki didn’t stop. She ran until she reached an empty lecture hall, throwing herself into a desk at the very back row.

Sitting there in the dim light, she felt a sharp, hollow ache open up inside her chest….a suffocating physical pain she had never felt in her entire life. A hot tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand, her breathing shallow and panicked. A sudden wave of intense anxiety washed over her, making her hands tremble.

He forgot me, she told herself fiercely, gripping the edge of the desk to stop the shaking. He completely forgot about me, and he has a beautiful girlfriend now. I should just move on. Why am I even crying? He was just my annoying high school enemy! He means nothing to me. She closed her eyes tight, forcing herself to breathe in and out. Forget everything, Palki. Just focus on your studies. That’s why you’re in this new city.

Palki? What happened? Why did you leave me like that?

Palki snapped her eyes open. Sara was suddenly sitting right beside her, her kind eyes full of deep, genuine worry.

Palki swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to force a normal expression onto her face. Nothing, bro. I... I just don’t feel very good right now.

Sara leaned closer, resting a comforting hand on Palki’s shoulder. Tell me what happened. You look so pale.

It’s nothing, really, Palki lied softly, looking down at her hands. Just a really bad headache.

It’s because you didn’t eat anything this morning! Sara scolded gently, a familiar, protective look crossing her face. Come on, let’s go to the canteen and get something warm. Food always fixes a headache.

Palki hesitated, every nerve in her body screaming at her to stay hidden. But she looked at Sara’s warm, sweet face and remembered that Sara was her best friend here. She didn’t want to be a burden. Okay, Palki whispered. “Let’s go.”

As they walked back down toward the bustling university cafeteria, Palki’s mind was a chaotic storm of swirling questions. Her chest burned with the desire to ask Sara about her relationship, to confirm her worst fears. She opened her mouth to ask, “Is Shad your boyfriend?” but she stopped herself just in time. What’s the point? she thought miserably. I already saw how close they are. Asking will only make it hurt more.

They quietly ate their lunch, though Palki could barely taste a single bite. Afterward, they began the long walk down the main university corridor to head back to the girl’s hostel blocks. The rainy afternoon had cast a cozy, gray glow through the massive glass windows.

Suddenly, a familiar tall figure walked past the intersecting hallway ahead of them.

“Shad! Shad, wait up!” Sara called out loudly, waving her hand.

The boy didn’t turn around. He kept walking at his steady, unhurried pace, completely oblivious to her voice, his backpack slung over one shoulder.

Sara let out a dramatic, frustrated groan and rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, he is such a deaf idiot.”

Palki froze mid-step, her heart skipping a beat. Oh... she murmured awkwardly, her throat tight.

Seriously, he never listens to a single thing I say, and he ignores Mom exactly like that too, Sara complained with a fond but highly annoyed huff, crossing her arms. “He is my completely deaf older brother.”

Palki froze solid. The entire hallway felt like it stopped spinning. Her jaw dropped slightly as she stared at Sara, her brain struggling to process the words.

Brother.

“Your... your brother?” Palki stammered, her voice suddenly squeaking.

Yeah, he’s my brother, Sara laughed, entirely oblivious to the emotional earthquake happening inside Palki’s chest. A majorly deaf brother, though. We live together in an apartment near campus.

An overwhelming, massive wave of pure, absolute relief crashed through Palki’s heart, instantly melting away the icy anxiety that had been suffocating her all afternoon. Sara wasn’t his girlfriend. He was single. He was just the same old protective older brother he had always been.

But as the relief washed over her, a tiny, lingering question remained in the back of her mind, casting a small shadow over her happiness. If Sara was just his sister... why did Shad look at her with such a serious, cold expression? Did he truly forget his favorite high school Papaya, or was there another reason for his silent, distant gaze?

After dropping Sara off at her destination, Palki walked toward her own hostel building alone. The rain had slowed to a gentle, steady drizzle, casting a soft mist over the campus. Her mind was still spinning with a million thoughts, a tiny smile tugging at her lips as she walked down the quiet, tree-lined path.

Suddenly, a smooth, deep voice echoed from the shadows right behind her.

“Hey, Papaya.”

Palki gasped, spinning around so fast her backpack shifted on her shoulders. Standing under the shelter of a giant oak tree was Shad. The cold, serious, formal look he had worn in front of his sister was completely gone. He was leaning back against the trunk, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

As their eyes locked, that exact same stupid, weird high school smile broke across his face…..the deeply amused, dimpled smirk that used to drive her completely crazy every single morning. He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with that familiar, infuriating mischief.

“You’re still as slow as a turtle,” he murmured softly. “I’ve been waiting here for five minutes.”

A soft sob caught in Palki’s throat. A single tear escaped her eye and slipped down her cheek, but a massive, genuine smile broke across her face at the exact same time. She lunged forward, clutching her backpack straps tightly as she scolded him in a trembling voice, “You idiot! Why did you leave me back then without even saying goodbye? And why did you just ignore me out there?!”

Shad’s smirk softened into a look of pure, gentle warmth. And just like that, the quiet university campus vanished, and Palki was right back in that chaotic, beautiful month of August.

The End of Our Journey 🌸

And just like that, Palki and Shad’s story has come to its final, beautiful page. Writing this reunion was incredibly emotional for me, and I wanted to close their chapter with the same pure love and deep care that started it all in that rainy month of August.

I truly hope you guys have enjoyed my story!

A little question for my lovely readers: ✨

When Shad looked at her like a complete stranger, did you guys get scared that he had forgotten his favorite Papaya forever? Tell me what went through your mind when you were reading that part!

THANKS FOR READING🤍🌷

jiyaa🌷

The morning bell rang, but for Palki, the sound felt distant and muffled. She sat at her desk, staring blankly at the scratched wooden surface, her hands resting tightly over her bruised thighs. She was doing everything she could to hold back the lingering sting of humiliation from the morning bus ride.

”Hey, Papaya!” a cheerful, familiar voice called out.

The classroom door had barely closed when Shad slid into his seat on the first bench, right in front of her. He swung his backpack over the chair, a bright, dimpled smile already plastered across his face. “You survived the first round of exams, so why do you look like a grumpy, deflated balloon today? Did the history questions scare you?”

Palki didn’t snap back. She didn’t bite her lip in annoyance, roll her eyes, or hiss at him to shut up. She just slowly looked down, tracing a pattern on her notebook, and muttered a quiet, flat, “Nothing.”

Shad’s smile instantly vanished.

The playful spark in his eyes turned into sharp, worried concern. Sitting directly in front of her, he knew her reactions perfectly. He knew exactly how loud she got when she was irritated, and this complete silence was entirely wrong. It was a guarded, heavy quietness that made his shoulders tense up.

For the rest of the school day, Shad turned into a completely different kind of distraction. He tried absolutely everything to break through her wall of silence and make her laugh. During the lunch break, he didn’t tease her from two tables away. Instead, he passed a crumpled piece of paper back to her desk. Palki opened it to find a surprisingly cute, detailed drawing of a round papaya wearing a giant warrior helmet, holding a wooden sword. Underneath, he had written in neat handwriting: Smile, Papaya. The history books aren’t that bad.

Palki didn’t smile. She just neatly folded the paper, placed it inside her pencil pouch, and kept her eyes glued to the blackboard. When the final bell rang, Palki packed her bag with slow, heavy movements. She didn’t want to face the afternoon bus ride, but she had no choice. She walked down the steps alone, her sneakers dragging, and slid into her usual window seat on Bus Number 4.

A minute later, the bus door hissed open. Shad climbed the steps, his face serious. Instead of taking the row across the aisle to tease her like he usually did, he quietly took the seat on the first seat of the bus row, sitting just one seat ahead of her. He didn’t speak, giving her the quiet space she clearly wanted, but placing his body exactly where he could keep a careful eye on her.

At the very next the bus doors opened again with a loud sound. Palki’s stomach instantly dropped into a cold knot. The three senior girls climbed up the steps, laughing loudly. The moment their leader spotted Palki sitting alone near the middle, her eyes narrowed into a nasty, smug smirk. The trio walked straight down the narrow path between the seats, stopping right beside Palki’s row.

”Move,” the leader ordered sharply, slamming her hand hard against the headrest of Palki’s seat.

“I told you this morning, this is my row.”Palki’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the strap of her bag. Her heart thudded wildly against her ribs, but she forced herself to look up, her voice cracking slightly under the pressure. “No.”

“What did you just say to me, The senior girl’s face twisted into instant rage. Without warning, she raised her right hand high into the air, swinging it down fast, aiming a harsh slap straight toward Palki’s face.

Palki subconsciously closed her eyes, bracing for the impact.

But the slap never landed.

A loud, sharp smack echoed through the bus path. Palki opened her eyes and gasped. Shad had stood up from the front seat, his tall frame completely towering over the narrow path. His strong hand had shot out fast, gripping the senior girl’s wrist in the air, stopping her arm just inches away from Palki’s cheek.

The usual playful, carefree boy next door was completely gone. Shad’s eyes were cold, dark, and burning with a fierce anger that Palki had never seen before. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle moved in his cheek.

”Don’t you dare touch her,” Shad scolded. His voice didn’t carry its usual smooth hum. It dropped into a low, dangerous growl that caused the entire crowded bus to go completely silent. The temperature in the vehicle felt like it dropped to freezing.He shoved the senior girl’s hand away hard, stepping directly between the bullies and Palki’s seat, completely shielding her with his broad shoulders.

“If I ever see any of you coming near her, speaking to her, or even breathing in her direction again,” Shad said, his voice dropping into a low, quiet warning, “I will personally make sure the principal kicks you out of this school permanently. Don’t test me. Get lost. Now.”

The three senior girls turned completely pale, stumbling backward over their own feet. They were completely scared by how intense Shad’s anger was. Without a single word, they turned around and ran toward the very front of the bus, not daring to look back.

Palki sat frozen, her breath completely caught in her throat. Her heart was racing, but not from fear anymore. She just stared up at Shad’s back. For the first time since August, she wasn’t seeing the annoying boy who stole her erasers or called her a fruit. She was seeing how strongly, how completely he had just protected her. A strange, warm feeling began to bloom deep inside her chest.

Shad let out a long, heavy breath, his tense shoulders slowly relaxing as he turned around in the path to face her. The scary expression vanished from his eyes, instantly replaced by genuine, soft concern. He bent down slightly in the path, putting himself at her eye level. “You okay, Palki?” he asked softly. Hearing her actual name come out of his mouth in that quiet, gentle tone made Palki’s heart jump wildly.

“I’m... I’m okay,” she whispered, her throat dry.

Shad stared at her for a long moment, checking she was safe, before a tiny, familiar bit of his playful smirk returned to his lips, trying to lighten the heavy air.

“Seriously, though...” Shad murmured, tilting his head with an amused look in his eyes. “Why didn’t you just slap her back? Every single day in class, you give me death threats, you threaten to break my pens, and you yell at me for just breathing. But against them, you’re just quiet?”

Palki looked down at her lap, a genuine, soft smile finally breaking across her face for the first time all day. “Nothing,” she murmured under her breath.

She looked back up at him through her eyelashes, her heart swelling. For the first time since the humid month of August began, Palki realized that having her number-one enemy around might actually be the best thing that ever happened to her.

The Sweet Scent of Memories

In the weeks that followed the incident on the bus, the invisible wall between the first and second bench completely crumbled away. Shad didn’t stop his teasing…..if anything, he became even more creative with it…. but the energy between them had completely shifted. He was still her self-proclaimed number-one enemy, yet Palki realized she had never felt more peaceful or calm than she did around his chaotic presence.

Whenever he dropped his eraser onto her desk, she would pass it back with a small smile instead of a scowl. When he checked his watch at the morning gate, she would stick her tongue out at him and try to run faster. They had a strange, effortless way of easing each other’s minds, gradually moving along the thin, beautiful line from enemies to best friends.

Then, a crisp Monday morning arrived.

Palki hurried up the metal steps of Bus Number 4, shaking the morning dew from her backpack. She automatically glanced at the front seat where Shad usually sat to greet her.

It was empty.

A tiny pang of disappointment hit her chest, but she quickly brushed it off. He probably just overslept and missed the bus, she thought, sliding into her window seat. He’ll be waiting right at his desk when I get to class.

But when she hurried into Classroom and glanced at the row ahead of her, the first bench was completely bare. There was no open jacket, no clear pencil pouch, and no boy turning around to puff his cheeks out at her.

Probably on medical leave today, Palki reasoned with herself, letting out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh as she slumped into her seat.

Finally! Today, no one will annoy me. What a beautiful, perfectly peaceful day! she announced to an amused Rina.

But as the hours dragged on, the silence from the first bench felt incredibly heavy. The classroom felt entirely too big, and the air felt flat. Palki found her eyes constantly drifting to the back of the empty chair in front of her, desperately wishing she could hear his smooth, boyish voice whispering “Hey, Papaya” into her ear just one more time. She shook her head fiercely, trying to snap out of it.

Who cares? I should be enjoying the absolute peace.

The next day came, and Shad’s seat remained empty.

One day turned into three. Three days turned into a grueling, silent week. Shad didn’t show up to school at all. The peaceful days Palki had spent months craving suddenly felt entirely hollow, boring, and colorless. Nobody checked the time on their watch when she ran through the gates. Nobody tapped her desk. The knot of worry in her chest grew so painfully large that she could no longer ignore it. She missed him. She missed him terribly.

During the afternoon lunch break, Palki spotted one of Shad’s close friends walking out of the crowded canteen. Forgetting all about her lunch, she abandoned Rina and sprinted across the hallway to intercept him.

Hey, Palki said, trying her absolute best to sound casual, though her voice trembled under the weight of her anxiety. Where is Shad? Why hasn’t he come to class all week? Is he sick?

The boy stopped, turning to look at her. The moment he recognized her, a heavy, deeply sympathetic expression washed over his face. He let out a quiet sigh. Oh... you don’t know, Palki?

Shad’s family had to pack up and move suddenly last weekend because of his dad’s corporate job. He left the city permanently. He’s already transferred and enrolled into a completely different school out of state.

Palki felt the ground freeze solid beneath her sneakers. Her stomach dropped into a bottomless, cold void. The noisy, buzzing cafeteria around her faded into a distant, muffled static as the words echoed in her brain.

He was gone. Her smiling, dimpled, fiercely protective neighbor was just... gone. He hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye.

Life eventually went back to exactly how it used to be before Shad ever stepped foot into the school.

Palki spent the next few months trying her absolute best to live a normal life. She forced herself to go through the motions, burying the sudden, deep emptiness she felt in her daily routine. Without Shad’s constant presence standing on the street corner or his heavy footsteps trailing behind her down the hallway, the world slowed down into a dull, ordinary rhythm.

Just like the old days, Palki went right back to being a complete latecomer. Without anyone waiting by the bulletin board to dramatically check his wristwatch and tease her for being thirty seconds behind schedule, she completely lost track of time every morning. She would sprint through the front gates, panting heavily, and rush into the classroom long after the morning bell had finished ringing.

Palki! her class teacher would bark from the blackboard, rubbing her temples in pure frustration. Late again? Do you ever intend to show up to my class on time?

I’m so sorry, ma’am, Palki would stammer out, recycling her usual messy, unorganized excuses. My alarm failed to go off, and then the traffic near the intersection...

The teacher would just sigh angrily and wave her hand toward the back row. Go take your seat. I am entirely tired of scolding you every single day.

Palki would slide down the aisle and slump into her chair on the second bench. Rina would lean over, immediately whispering about a difficult upcoming pop quiz or the heavy homework load. But nobody tapped the back of Palki’s chair anymore. Nobody leaned back to drop an eraser or steal her pens. The first bench in front of her belonged to a quiet, studious boy who never turned around.

On her way home, Palki would sit quietly by the window on Bus Number 4. The three senior girls never bothered her again….perhaps still completely terrified of the lingering memory of Shad’s low, dangerous growl from that rainy afternoon. The row across the aisle remained occupied by random students who didn’t know her name.

Yet, despite her quiet, ordinary life, the memory of Shad lingered in the most unexpected, beautiful moments.

Whenever she walked through the local market with her mother and passed by a fruit vendor, her eyes would lock onto a stack of bright orange papayas. Automatically, a soft, involuntary smile would tug at the corners of her lips, and a familiar warmth would bloom in her chest. She would find herself staring out the bus window at his old stop, half-expecting to see a tall, carefree boy with an open uniform jacket and a dimpled smirk waiting under the shade of the trees.

He was gone, and she had no way of reaching him. But deep down, Palki knew she would never truly forget her favorite enemy. The chaotic, protective boy who had turned her ordinary August into a memory she would carry with her forever.

And just like that, Palki and Shad’s story has come to its final, bittersweet page. Writing this journey has been an absolute comfort for me. My goal was to create a story filled with pure love and selfless care to write a character so steady and protective that anyone reading would wish to have a enemy like Shad in their life.

I truly hope you guys enjoyed my story!🤍🌷

i know this is too long and thank you so much for reading guysss

love youuuuu so much 🤍🌷

What do you think they will meet again in the future? Tell me your thoughts! 👇

jiyaa🌷

But seeing all that sadness made me want to talk about my uncle. Because his life was exhausting too, but he somehow knew exactly how to love everything anyway.

He was the most carefree person I have ever known. On paper, he was brilliant he could speak more than 7 languages and had a great job. But he didn’t care about those titles or degrees. What made him unforgettable was his heart.

He had this beautiful habit of spoiling every child around him. He would literally walk into a store with random kids from the street and say, “Beta, whatever you want, I will buy.” He spent his salary on smiles. He spent his weekends making children feel like kings. His kindness was just effortless.

He spoiled me the most. He gave me my name Jiyaa, which means soul, heart, and light. He would look at me and say, “You are the light of my world.” He loved me unconditionally, without any strings attached. And he gave me one sentence that I try to carry with me every single day: “Never overthink. Just do what your mind and heart say. Don’t listen to anyone.”

It wasn’t always easy for him. Our family got angry at him because he made his own choices, and life gave him plenty of struggles. But he never let that dull his smile. He was so full of life, yaar. To me, he was the best human I knew.

And then, he left us. He left me behind in this tough world.

For a long time, I kept asking myself: Why did he leave me? I even carry this huge regret inside me that I didn’t get to talk to him that one last time. It hurts so much, and honestly, I usually never talk about him with anyone because I know if I do, I will just break down and cry. I am writing this right now just to make my heart a little free.

But I think I finally know the answer to my question. He didn’t leave to teach me how to grieve. He left to remind me how to live.

When I look at all the tired posts online, I realize what we do: we postpone our joy. We wait for people to approve of us. We shrink ourselves to fit what others expect. We overthink until the moment is gone. But time doesn’t wait for us. One day we just leave this world, and we never come back.

So whose life is this? It’s ours. Only ours.

I am trying every single day to be a good person. I am trying to live everything, to live happily, and to make him proud…..to prove that I really am his Jiyaa, his soul, his heart, and his light.

My uncle didn’t wait for a perfect time to be generous or happy. He didn’t ask for permission to be himself. He just lived. Loudly. Freely. Kindly.

So to anyone on here who is feeling stuck, tired, or scared: this is your sign. Stop overthinking. Ask yourself what you would do if you only had today, and just go do it. Call the person you love. Start the thing you’ve been delaying. Buy ice cream for a random kid. Be the person who gives someone a reason to believe they are a light.

We don’t get a second life. We get this one. I am Jiyaa, and the least I can do is keep that light turned on. Let’s live fully, in our own way, before it’s gone.

Thank you for reading my heart today. Let’s keep our lights on together.
Jiyaa🌷🤍

As the rainy August days rolled effortlessly into a humid September, Shad made it his absolute life mission to annoy Palki in the most uniquely creative ways possible. He didn’t just drop her pens anymore he turned bothering her into a highly specialized art form.

Every single morning, without fail, Palki would sprint into the school courtyard just seconds before the final bell, her laces untied and her hair flying wild. And every single morning, Shad would already be standing calmly by the main notice board, looking fresh and perfectly neat. He wouldn’t say a single word. He would just catch her panicked eye, slowly lift his wrist to check his watch, tilt his head with a pout, and give her that exact same, highly irritating, dimpled smile.

Stop looking at your watch! Palki had snapped at him one rainy Tuesday morning as she sprinted past him, splashing a small puddle.

Just checking the time, Papaya, Shad had called out smoothly, his voice full of mock innocence. He didn’t say it meanly, his voice was soft, carrying a playful, boyish charm that made her chest tighten with frustration. You’re thirty seconds late than yesterday. Speed it up.

Palki had groaned loudly, her hands clenching into tight fists. He was doing it entirely to get under her skin! He was her absolute number-one enemy, a walking, smiling menace sent to earth specifically to ruin her peace of mind.

In the classroom, it was even worse. Since Shad sat on the first bench right ahead of her second bench, he used his position to full advantage. During a boring History lecture, he would suddenly lean back, stretch his long arms, and casually drop his favorite eraser right onto her open textbook.

When Palki glared at the back of his head, he would slowly turn around, resting his chin on his palm. He would look up at her through his eyelashes, blinking innocently. Can I have my eraser back, Papaya? I can’t erase my mistakes without it, he would whisper, his eyes sparkling with pure mischief.

“Use your own hands!” Palki would hiss back, shoving the eraser across his desk.

Shad would just let out a soft, breathy chuckle, poke his tongue out at her for a split second, and turn back around. He was infuriatingly cute when he did it, which only made Palki twice as irritated because she couldn’t even stay properly mad at him.

But finally, a beautiful light at the end of the tunnel appeared Exam Week.

Palki was actually celebrating internally on Monday morning. She wasn’t excited because she loved studying, but because she realized something absolutely brilliant. During major exams, the school completely shuffled all the students into random classrooms based on their roll numbers to prevent cheating.

YES! Palki thought happily, a massive smile on her face as she walked down the crowded hallway. For the next two weeks, the desk are shuffled. I won’t have to sit on the second bench behind his stupid, handsome face! I can finally breath!

As she was navigating through the sea of nervous students, Reena ran up to her, holding a crumpled yellow exam slip.

Which room did you get, Palki? Reena asked, adjusting her heavy bag.

Palki proudly pointed to the door at the very end of the senior hallway. Room 304, that one over there.

Rina looked down at her own slip and let out a dramatic sigh. Ah, man, I got Room 202 on the lower floor. Well, good luck, bro! Meet you at lunchtime in the canteen!

Rina waved her hand and quickly ran down the stairs.

Good luck, bro! Palki called out.

With a lighter heart than she had felt in weeks, Palki walked into Room 304. The room was buzzing with anxious energy. Students from different grades were frantically flipping through their notes and whispering definitions. Palki walked all the way to the back of the classroom and happily found her assigned desk….the very last bench right by the open window.

She slid into her seat, letting out a blissful sigh. Everyone around her was a complete stranger. No Shad. No annoying pencil tapping. No “Papaya.”

Feeling completely relaxed, Palki folded her arms on the cool wooden table, rested her head on them, and lazily looked toward the open classroom door, watching the last few latecomers trickle in before the exam bell.

And then, her heart stopped dead in her chest.

Walking through the doorway, looking entirely unbothered by the upcoming test, was Shad.

Palki’s head snapped up so fast her neck popped.NO.NO WAY. God, please, no, she prayed desperately, her eyes widening in absolute horror.

Shad walked into the room, holding a clear plastic pencil pouch in one hand and his exam board in the other. He began looking around, scanning the rows to find his assigned seat number. As his eyes tracked row by row, he eventually looked all the way to the very back of the room.

His eyes locked onto Palki.

An instant, massive, delighted smile broke across his face, his dimples cutting deep into his cheeks. He looked down at his slip, then walked over to the front of the classroom. As if the universe itself was playing a cruel joke on her, his assigned desk was the very first bench in the exact same row as her.

Shad pulled out his wooden chair and sat down on the first bench. But before the supervisor could walk in, he turned his entire body completely around to face the back of the room. He caught Palki’s completely defeated, miserable gaze all the way on the last bench.

He didn’t just give a normal wave. He puffed out his cheeks to mimic a round papaya, lifted his hand, and gave her a cute, slow little finger-wave. Then, he mouthed the words clearly across the silent room…

Hi, Papaya.

Palki buried her face flat against her wooden desk, letting out a muffled groan of pure despair. Her ears were burning hot. There was no escaping him. He was a menace a perfectly cute, dimpled, absolutely infuriating menace, and even the universe was on his side.

EXAMS OVER….

The morning, the heavy gray monsoon clouds matched Palki’s sudden, shifting mood. She climbed up the steep metal steps of Bus Number 4, shaking the raindrops off her umbrella. Out of habit, her eyes automatically darted to the row across the aisle.

The seat was completely empty.

Palki blinked, looking toward the front doors, but the bus driver hissed the doors shut and pulled away from the curb. Shad wasn’t there. He had missed his usual bus stop entirely. Palki told herself she should be thrilled. finally, a peaceful ride without anyone calling me a fruit, she thought, clutching her backpack tightly against her chest as she slid into her window seat. But as the bus rumbled down the slick streets, the silence felt oddly heavy and strange. She found herself staring at the empty leather seat across from her, a tiny, annoying knot of disappointment twisting in her stomach.

A few stops later, the bus ground to a halt near the senior wing. Three older senior girls boarded the bus, talking loudly and laughing sharply. They moved down the narrow aisle like they owned the vehicle, and stopped directly in front of Palki’s row.

Usually, these specific girls never dared to even look in Palki’s direction. Even though Shad spent every single second teasing her, his constant, towering, and fiercely protective presence acted like an invisible shield. The entire school knew better than to pick a fight with the girl who had a tall, dimpled shadow constantly watching over her.

But today, Shad was completely missing. And the bullies knew it.

The leader of the group, a senior girl aggressively tapped Palki’s shoulder with her finger. “Stand up,” she barked, her voice dripping with malice. “That’s my seat.”

Palki’s heart did a nervous flutter, but she swallowed her fear, trying to sound as brave as she did when she argued with Shad. She looked around at the other empty seats further down the bus. Why should I stand up? Did you buy this specific seat?

The senior girl stepped closer into her space, narrowing her eyes into an ugly glare. This is your last warning. Stand up and give me my seat right now.

“And if I don’t?” Palki countered, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her notebook.

Instead of arguing further, the senior girl lunged forward. With a mean smirk, she violently snatched Palki’s heavy school backpack from the floor. Without an ounce of hesitation, she dropped it aggressively right onto Palki’s thighs.

The heavy textbooks inside slammed into Palki’s legs, bruising her skin and knocking the wind right out of her.

Keep it then, loser, the senior girl sneered. The three of them laughed loudly, pushing past her to take the seats further back in the bus.

Palki sat completely frozen, her breath catching in her throat. Her thighs stung with a sharp, throbbing pain from the impact, but more than the physical ache, a massive wave of hot humiliation washed over her. She could hear the quiet whispers of the other students around her. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she forced herself to stare straight ahead, refusing to let a single drop fall.

When the bus finally reached the school gates, Palki didn’t sprint through the courtyard. She didn’t look around for anyone. Hugging her bag tightly against her bruised legs, she walked into the school building feeling incredibly small, vulnerable, and deeply sad. The bright, chaotic world of August had suddenly turned cold, and for the first time, she realized just how much she relied on her favorite enemy to keep her safe.

TO BE CONTINUED…..

Thank you so much for reading Palki and Shad’s journey! This story is incredibly close to my heart, and I wanted to write a pure, respectful kind of love that makes everyone wish for a protector like Shad in their real lives. 🌸

I truly hope you guys are enjoying my story so far! Please let me know your thoughts in the comments, Your support means the world to me! ✨

The mid-day bell rang and it did not only mean that lunch time had started, it also meant that Palki could finally get away for a little while from all the mental disturbance that was happening right in front of her in the class.

For three full periods Shad had been sitting there and he had not done anything to help her focus, in fact just his small actions were enough to break her concentration. He did not even have to try to distract her. Every single time he moved a little in his seat, or sighed, or leaned back in a casual way, Palki’s eyes would automatically go to the back of his head instead of staying on her notebook.

The second the bell stopped ringing, Palki groaned loudly and said, “I am literally starving.” She dropped her head forward and let her chin rest on the cool wood of her desk because she felt so tired. Then she looked at Reena and said, “Reena, let’s go to the canteen. I’m so hungry, bro, I don’t think my legs can even support my weight.”

Reena laughed while she was quickly putting her pencil case into her bag and she replied, “I am also starving, bro. Let’s go before the seniors take over the entire line.

The moment the two of them stepped out of the classroom, they completely lost all sense of being polite, quiet high school students. Walking down the crowded hallway, they looked totally insane. They were laughing loudly at inside jokes, playfully bumping into each other, and walking with exaggerated, clumsy steps on purpose. When they were together, they were a matching pair of absolute weirdos, and honestly they didn’t care who saw them.

As they neared the heavy double doors of the cafeteria, Palki noticed a shadow tall enough to block the hallway light right beside her. She glanced sideways out of the corner of her eye.

It was Shad. He was walking just two steps to her left, matching her speed perfectly, his hands tucked casually into his uniform pockets.

“Is he following us?” Reena whispered loudly, nudging Palki’s ribs with her elbow so hard it nearly knocked her off balance.

“No, bro!” Palki hissed back, her voice a sharp undertone as she tried desperately to keep her eyes fixed straight ahead. “He’s probably just hungry too. It’s a school, Reena. He’s obviously going to the canteen.”

The moment they stepped into the crowded, noisy cafeteria…..it felt like a total mess of sound because trays were clinking everywhere and teenagers were shouting all around. And just like that

Shad melted effortlessly into the crowd and completely disappeared from sight.

Reena stopped in her tracks, blinking as she scanned the room. Wait, where did he go so fast?

Why are you so interested in him anyway? Just leave him alone, Palki said, grabbing Reena’s forearm and pulling her firmly toward the food counter.

Yeah, true. Food first, Reena agreed instantly, her attention immediately pivoting to the smell of fresh snacks.

Once they secured their plates and found a small table near the windows, Palki completely forgot about things like manners or eating elegantly. She was eating like she had been trapped on a deserted island for a month, stuffing her face, chewing quickly, and holding her spoon like a shovel in a total bulky, messy way.

Suddenly, for no reason at all, her eyes drifted across the noisy room.

Sitting two tables directly in front of her, facing her way, was Shad.

He was staring right at her. The exact moment their eyes locked, he caught her with her mouth completely full of food, her cheeks puffed out like a hamster. An instant, massive, deeply amused smile broke across his face. He didn’t look away in embarrassment. Instead, he gave her a knowing nod, and only then did he casually look down to take a perfectly neat, polite bite of his own lunch.

Palki felt a wave of intense, scorching heat rush from her neck straight to her forehead. She swallowed her food with a hard, painful gulp, slammed her spoon down onto the tray with a loud clatter, and abruptly stood up.

I’m getting out of here, she muttered, her face turning a bright, unmistakable red.

She stormed out of the canteen, her sneakers thudding angrily against the floor. The moment she reached the relatively quiet corridor, she gripped her own hair in frustration. why is he smiling like that?Ahhhh!…. why does he keep catching me at my worst?! screamed internally.

Reena hurried out right behind her, a massive, teasing smirk across her face as she caught up. Bro, Reena whispered, nudging her again. I think I’m not the one who’s interested. You’re definitely obsessed with him.

No! Palki snapped, crossing her arms defensively and glaring at the lockers.He is just so incredibly weird! Why would I ever be interested in a pole like him?

Hey, Palki.

A smooth, calm voice called out from right behind them.

Palki froze instantly. Her heart did a sudden, chaotic flip inside her chest. She slowly turned around to face him, her throat suddenly feeling completely dry as she looked up into his smiling eyes.

Mmm... hi, she stammered.

Shad stepped closer, holding his hand out. Resting in his open palm was a unique, vibrant claw clip shaped exactly like a sliced orange papaya, complete with tiny painted black seeds. It was Palki’s absolute favorite hair accessory everyone at school knew she was completely obsessed with papayas and ate them almost every single day.

You forgot your clip on the canteen table when you ran away like a criminal, Shad said, his voice dripping with pure amusement. He glanced at the fruit design, then looked up at her flushed, angry face. So, you love eating papayas, you wear a papaya clip, and your face turns bright orange when you’re mad... I think I’m just going to call you Papaya from now on.

Palki’s jaw dropped. What did you just call me?! My name is Palki!

Whatever you say, Papaya, Shad replied easily, his dimples flashing as he gently dropped the clip back into her hands. It suits you. You get all soft and mushy when you’re mad.

“Ahhhhh!” Palki muttered under her breath, clutching her favorite clip and turning on her heel in pure frustration.

The final school bell of the day rang with a loud, mechanical buzz, signaling the sweet relief of freedom. Palki packed her backpack at lightning speed, practically throwing her notebooks inside. Her main goal was simple escape the classroom before the boy on the first bench could turn around and say another word to her.

See you tomorrow, bro! Reena called out, waving cheerfully as she headed toward the walking gates.

Tataa, bro! Palki waved back, rushing down the steps toward the parking lot where the yellow school buses were lined up in a neat row. She quickly climbed the steep steps of Bus Number 4, found an empty window seat near the middle, and let out a massive sigh of relief. She was finally safe from his dimples and that ridiculous nickname.

Then, the bus door hissed open one last time.

Palki casually glanced up, and her jaw instantly dropped. Walking down the narrow aisle, looking completely relaxed with his hands in his pockets, was Shad.

No way, Palki thought, her eyes widening in absolute horror. Please don’t see me.Please don’t see me….

She immediately whipped her head around, pressing her forehead against the cool glass of the window. She pretended to be deeply fascinated by a random stray dog walking across the empty schoolyard outside.

Is this seat taken?

A smooth, familiar voice shattered her silent prayers. Palki slowly turned her head. Shad was standing right in the narrow aisle, pointing his finger to the empty seat directly across from her row.

There are literally ten other empty seats on this bus, Shad, Palki muttered, crossing her arms tightly and glaring up at him.

Yeah, but this one has the absolute best view, Shad replied easily.

He slid into the seat right across the aisle, placing his backpack neatly on his lap. He leaned his head back against the faux-leather headrest, turned his face toward her, and flashed that exact same, highly irritating smile.

Palki groaned loudly, burying her face in her hands before turning back to the window. Why is my life like this? she screamed internally.

The bus rumbled to life, the engine vibrating heavily as it pulled out of the school gates and navigated through the afternoon traffic. For the first ten minutes, Palki tried her absolute best to ignore his presence. But she could feel his eyes on her. She peeked sideways through the dark reflection in the glass window. Shad wasn’t even looking at the street outside he was just openly amused, watching her try so incredibly hard to avoid him.

So, Shad called out over the loud rattle of the bus engine. Are you always this grumpy after school, or am I just special?

Palki snapped her head around, her pent-up frustration finally boiling over. You are just incredibly annoying! Why do you keep following me everywhere? First the corridor, then my class, then the canteen, and now you’re tracking me onto my own bus?!

Shad let out a soft, genuine laugh that made Palki’s heart do a stupid, unwanted little flutter. I’m not following you, Papaya. I take Bus 4 because my house happens to be on this exact route. Look.

He pointed out the window as the bus began to slow down near a cozy, tree-lined residential neighborhood.

I get off right at this stop, Shad said, standing up and hoisting his backpack over one shoulder. He stepped into the aisle, but before he moved toward the front exit, he leaned down slightly so he was at perfect eye level with her. Which means, neighbor, we get to do this every single afternoon.

He gave her one last playful wink, turned around, and hopped off the bus into the warm afternoon air.

Palki watched through the glass as he walked down the sidewalk, hands tucked into his pockets, looking completely pleased with himself. Her house was only three stops further down the line. He literally lived on her exact route home.

“Ahhhhh!” Palki muffled a scream into her hands, slumping down into her bus seat. He was going to annoy her every single morning, every single class, and now, every single afternoon.

TO BE CONTINUED……..

It was the kind of August morning that felt soft. The sky was pale blue with lazy clouds, and the air smelled like wet earth from last night’s rain. Everything in the school lane was calm. Vendors were setting up, birds were loud, and even the auto horns sounded distant. Except for Palki. She was late. Really late

When she reached the main entrance, the courtyard was entirely empty. The heavy school gates were already closed, forcing her to slip through the side turnstile. The building was dead silent, a clear sign that the morning bell had rung long ago and every single class had already started.

The corridor was empty because every class had already started. Her shoes made echoing tap tap sounds on the floor. She was counting her steps, praying the teacher wouldn’t notice, when

Thud!

She crashed directly into a solid wall of a chest. The impact knocked her off balance, sending her flying backward onto the hard floor. Her books scattered in every direction.

“Ouch!” Palki groaned, rubbing her elbow. She looked up, instantly annoyed, to see a boy standing over her. He looked completely unbothered, adjusting the strap of his backpack.

Hey! Watch where you’re going! Palki scolded, her face flushing with embarrassment. Do you even know how to walk?

The boy blinked, then a soft, amused smile broke across his face.

Umm, I know how to walk, he said, his voice calm and light. But I think you were the one who bumped into me.

Before she could snap back, he bent down, gathered her scattered notebooks, and extended a hand to help her up. Palki hesitated for a second before taking it. As he pulled her to her feet, she looked directly at his face. He had kind eyes and a warm, effortless smile that made her irritation instantly melt into confusion.

He handed over her books, smiled at her one last time without saying another word, and turned to walk down the hall.

Palki stood frozen for a moment,watching his back as he went away.

who is he? she wondered, her mind racing. Is he a new student?I’ve never seen him before.

A sharp bell in the distance snapped her back to reality. The class!

Palki rushed down the corridor and slid through the door of her classroom. The entire room went silent. Thirty pairs of eyes turned to look at her. At the front of the room, her class teacher stood with her arms crossed, looking furious.

Palki, the teacher said, sounded very disappointed.

Care to explain why you are late to my class?

I……I’m so sorry, ma’am, Palki stammered, instantly launching into a flurry of excuses. My alarm didn’t go off, and then the traffic…..and….

The teacher raised a hand to cut her off. Save the excuses, Palki.

Go take your seat. Don’t let it happen again.

Palki nodded quickly and hurried down the path between the desk. She practically threw herself into the empty chair beside her best friend, Reena.

What happened? Reena whispered immediately, leaning over her desk.

Why are you so late?

Nothing, bro, Palki muttered back under her breath, pulling out her textbook. It’s all because of this boy. He literally bumped into me in the hallway, gave me this weird smile, and just walked away.

Palki! Reena! the teacher’s sharp voice barked from the blackboard. Why are you talking? Open your books and pay attention!

Both girls snapped their heads forward. Reena opened her textbook to page forty-two, leaning her head slightly to the side so only Palki could hear her. Teacher is so angry today, Reena whispered. We really need to take care and not make any more mistakes.

Palki nodded, pretending to read the page. But as she stared at the printed words, her mind kept drifting back to the corridor, wondering exactly who that smiling boy was.

A sharp,firm knock on the classroom door cut through the tense silence.

The teacher stopped writing on the blackboard and turned. The door swung open, and the principal stood in the doorway.

Excuse me, miss, the principal said, stepping into the room.

Yes, what happened, sir? the teacher replied, her strict expression softening slightly.

We have a new student who just transferred to our school today, the principal explained, gesturing for someone to step inside from the hallway. He is going to be a part of your class from now on.

Palki casually looked up from her desk, but her heart instantly skipped a beat. Walking into the room was the exact same guy from the corridor. He adjusted his backpack strap, completely relaxed.

As he scanned the room of unfamiliar faces, his eyes locked onto Palki. The moment he recognized her, that same warm, effortless smile broke across his face.

Palki’s eyes widened in panic. She immediately looked down, grabbing her open textbook and lifting it up to completely hide her face.

Reena! Reena! Palki mumbled desperately under her breath, leaning as close to her best friend as possible without dropping the book. “Why is he looking at me like that?”

Reena peeked past Palki’s book, her eyes darting between the new boy and her friend. Wait... is that him? Reena whispered back, her voice full of excitement. Is that the corridor guy?

Yes! He is! Palki hissed, her cheeks burning red behind the pages of her book.

The teacher clapped her hands together to get everyone’s attention. She looked at the new boy and smiled. “Welcome to our class. Please, introduce yourself to everyone.”

The boy stood confidently at the front of the room, his expression friendly and calm. Hello everyone, he said, his voice smooth and clear. “My name is Shad.”

Please take the seat next to Reena, the teacher said, pointing to the only empty bench. The one right beside Palki. The whole class went “ohhh” silently.

shad walked down the aisle. Past the blackboard..

He stopped beside Palki’s desk, pulled out the chair, and sat down.The chair scraped the floor.

He put his bag down. Didn’t look at her directly.

But right before opening his notebook, he tilted his head just a little toward her and whispered, barely audible

Hey. We meet again.

Palki stared straight at her book. Her pulse was so loud she was sure Rina could hear it.She didn’t answer. She just nodded once, small. Rina kicked her foot under the desk. Told you so. Outside, the August wind moved the tree branches. Sunlight came in stripes on their desk.

And Palki thought: It was a calm day. Until he walked in.

To be continued…..

Some memories don’t arrive all at once.

They come in whispers, in page numbers, in a smile you can’t place.

This is only Chapter 1. There’s more blur to uncover.

Thanks for reading

Jiyaa~

It is my gold ring the one my mother gave me and I have worn for so long! How can gold turn black like this?

Sana looked closely at the blackened metal, but then she let out a casual, relaxed laugh to calm her down. “Don’t overthink it, bro! It is just because of the cheap, dirty water pipes in this old building. Honestly, I also have a ring that turned completely dark the exact week I moved in here.” Sana walked back to her desk drawer, pulled out a tarnished, dull ring, and held it up. “See? I told you, it’s just the chemical reaction from the tap water.”

Zara took a deep, shaky breath, desperately wanting to believe her. She figured her mind was just playing tricks on her because she was so exhausted from the lack of sleep. Pushing her fear aside, she finished getting ready and hurried out of the PG to head to her office.

But later that afternoon, while she was sitting at her desk, her phone rang. It was her mother. Hearing her mom’s familiar voice, Zara couldn’t hold it back anymore. She broke down and told her mother absolutely everything the freezing cold at 3:00 AM, the suffocating smell of rotting meat, and the gold ring turning black.

On the other end of the line, her mother went completely silent for a moment before her voice dropped, sounding incredibly tensed. Don’t worry, beta.
Stay strong and read your prayers. I am going to look into the history of that building right now to find out exactly what is going on…

By the time Zara returned to the PG that evening, the sun had already set. She walked into the room and saw Sana lying on her bed.
“Sana? Are you sleeping?” Zara called out softly, but there was no reply. Figuring her roommate was just exhausted, Zara quietly freshened up, climbed into her own bed, and drifted off to sleep.

Suddenly, a weird, heavy scratching sound woke her up.

Zara opened her eyes, her heart instantly racing. She wanted to sit up, but her body wouldn’t move an inch. She was completely paralyzed. A massive, invisible weight slammed down onto her chest, suffocating her so badly that she couldn’t breathe or even cry out for help. Something evil was pressing her down into the mattress. In pure panic, Zara closed her eyes and began frantically reciting Ayatul Kursi [a powerful prayer for protection] repeatedly in her mind.

The moment she finished the verses, the heavy pressure violently lifted, and everything went back to normal. Zara broke down, sobbing uncontrollably in the dark, when suddenly her phone began to ring loudly. Terrified of who could be calling her so late at night, she looked at the screen. It was her mother.

Zara grabbed the phone, her voice cracking as she wept. “Mumma! I don’t want to live here anymore! Please take me back!”

Her mother got so tensed hearing her daughter cry like that. She tried her best to calm her down, whispering, “Listen to me, beta. Recite some Surahs right now and try to sleep. I called you late because I looked into that place, and I couldn’t even wait for tomorrow to tell you.”

“What is it, Mumma? Tell me,” Zara pleaded, looking around the dark corners of the room.

For now, just try to sleep, her mother said gently. Tomorrow morning, pack a small bag and go straight to your aunt’s house. Live there until you find a new room.

Yeah, I really don’t want to stay here, Zara agreed.
She kept her phone screen on, played an audio recording of the protective prayer on speaker, and finally managed to fall asleep.

In the morning, Zara quickly packed some clothes into a small bag. She noticed Sana wasn’t in her bed. Thinking she might be in the washroom, Zara checked, but it was empty. She figured Sana had just gone outside early. Zara grabbed her bag, walked downstairs, and told the PG warden,
I am going to stay at my aunt’s house for a few days, so I will be back in two or three days.

When Zara arrived at her aunt’s house, her aunt was incredibly happy to see her, but the moment she looked at Zara’s face, her smile vanished. Zara looked completely different her skin was pale, and she had deep, heavy dark circles under her eyes.

Tensed, her aunt asked, “What happened, beta? Why do you look like this?”

Nothing, Aunty, Zara said weakly. I just really need some sleep.

Okay, go freshen up, eat something first, and then sleep, her aunt insisted.

No, I just want to sleep right now, Zara begged, but her aunt wouldn’t let her go on an empty stomach, forcing her to eat a few bites before letting her crash on the bed.

But the moment Zara closed her eyes, she fell into a horrifying, twisted nightmare. In her dream, she was trapped back in the PG room, and the walls were bleeding black water while a tall, faceless shadow slowly crawled out from under Sana’s bed, reaching its long, frozen fingers toward her throat.

Zara screamed at the top of her lungs, waking up drenched in sweat.

Her aunt rushed into the room, instantly hugging and consoling the crying girl. Later that afternoon, while Zara was resting, her aunt called Zara’s mother in a panic.
Why is Zara acting so weirdly? She looks so pale, it almost seems like she doesn’t have a single drop of blood left in her body! She keeps crying and can’t sleep.

Zara’s mother let out a heavy sigh and explained what she had discovered.
I spoke to the elders and looked into the history of that building. There is a very dark Jinn energy in that exact room. The entire space is possessed. Zara accidentally disturbed the Jinn on her first night, and now it is trying to take revenge on her. She must leave that PG immediately.

“Don’t worry,” her aunt said warmly. “I am just like her mother. If she wants to stay with me, she can live here forever. I will take care of her.”

That evening, Zara woke up to a phone call from her mother. “Zara, beta, you need to leave that PG completely. Just stay with your aunty from now on.”

Zara felt a cold wave of fear wash over her. “Okay, Mumma.”

“Go back to the PG tomorrow morning, pack up all your stuff, and just leave that place for good,” her mother instructed.

“But Mumma, I’m so scared,” Zara whispered. “I don’t think I can go back inside that room.”

“Just whisper your prayers for protection before you step through the door,” her mother reassured her. “Nothing will happen to you.”

The next morning, Zara walked back to the PG. The entire building felt strangely calm…. there was no noise, no footsteps, almost like the place was completely abandoned. The moment she entered the main gate, a freezing cold breeze hit her right in the face, sending heavy goosebumps across her skin. Mumbling the protective verses under her breath, she walked up to the warden and said, “I don’t want to live here anymore. I’m leaving today.”

“As your wish,” the warden replied blankly.

Zara walked up the stairs and unlocked her room. The exact same scary, heavy feeling from her first day slammed into her. Suddenly, a violent wind blew through the open window, making the glass panes hit the wall with loud bangs. Remembering her mother’s warning, Zara didn’t look back or look into the dark corners. She kept her eyes down, packed every single one of her things into her suitcases without stopping, and ran out of the room.

As she walked down the hallway, she finally felt a sense of relief. But then a sudden thought hit her: Where is Sana? How is she going to live all alone in that room with that Jinn?

Zara stopped by the warden’s desk on her way out. Where is Sana?

The warden looked up, confused. Sana? She left this PG months ago, beta. Nobody has lived in that room since.

Zara’s blood turned to pure ice.

Before she could even process the warden’s words, her mother’s warning echoed in her mind: Whatever happens, do not look back.

Suddenly, a very familiar voice called out from the dark end of the hallway behind her.

Zara... Zara...

Zara’s heart stopped, and despite her mother’s warning, she instinctively turned around.

Standing in the shadows was Sana. But she looked entirely creepy now…her skin was deathly pale, her eyes were wide and unblinking, and that same wide, unchanging smile was stretched across her face as she began walking slowly toward Zara.

Zara felt heavy goosebumps break out all over her body. Trying to stay calm, she stammered, The... the warden just said you left this PG a long time ago.

“Yeah,” Sana said, her voice sounding unnaturally high-pitched and hollow.

Then... why are you here right now? Zara whispered, backing away.

Sana stopped walking, her smile stretching even wider as she whispered in a weird, distorted voice, “I just wanted to say something to someone.”

Zara’s hands shook as she gripped her bags. “Okay... I am leaving this PG too. I am going to live with my aunt.”

Oh, Sana whispered.

“Okay, bye then,” Zara said, turning around quickly to walk away.

But before she could take a step, Sana’s voice hissed from right behind her ear. “Zara, listen.”

Zara slowly turned her head back one last time. Sana stared directly into her eyes, her smile splitting the corners of her mouth as she whispered, “Remember one thing... never enter someone’s place without their permission.”

Sana gave a terrifying grin, and in the blink of an eye, she vanished completely into thin air…….

Thank you so much for reading Page 3 of The Padlocked Room! 🚪✨

What do you think Zara is going to do now? Do you think she is truly safe at her aunt’s house after that warning?
Drop your wildest theories and thoughts in the comments below….

If this part gave you goosebumps, make sure to hit the like button, and subscribe so you are the first to know what happens next. See you in the next post!🤍

And someone was in her room.

Zara’s heart was pounding. She pushed the door open slowly. The room was dark. Only one weak bulb was flickering in the corner, like it was about to die any second.

Her hands were shaking. She walked in and hit the main switch.

Click.

The tube light above her buzzed and then flooded the room with white light. It was big. Too big for a bedroom. The walls looked old and cracked.

And in the far corner, next to the wardrobe, stood a girl.

Her back was to Zara. She was putting clothes in the cupboard. Slow. Too slow. Like a robot.

The light hit the walls and bounced back. The girl froze.

One second. Two seconds.

Then she turned her head.

Just her head.

Her mouth was stretched into a big smile that didn’t move. Her eyes were wide open and didn’t blink. She was staring straight at Zara.

And she didn’t make a sound.

Hyyy Zara, the girl said, her voice sounding unnaturally flat.

Zara felt a cold shiver go down her spine, looking at her before asking in a small voice, "Who are you?"

She replied, her grin never moving, I'm Sana, your roommate.

Zara tried to calm her racing heart and said, The staff member told me you were away on holidays and you would be back in two or three days.

Sana said, Yeah, but I had some important work in this city, and that's why I returned early.

Zara let out a massive breath, feeling completely relieved, and told her, "Thank God you camel I just felt so scared, and I couldn't even sleep last night."

Sana smiled and said, It is only because it was your first day, so don't think too much about it.After that, Zara was so happy that everything was finally going to be fine. They both talked late into the night about their lives, shared their dinner together, and eventually went to sleep.

But at exactly 3:00 AM, Zara woke up with a sharp jolt.

She again smelled that horrible, rotting meat smell, and it was getting worse by the second, filling her throat and making her gag. Panicking, she tried to wake Sana up, but Sana was deep in sleep. Zara shook her arm and whispered, Sana, Sanal

Sana didn't move, so Zara shook her harder, her heart hammering against her ribs as she said, "Sana, wake up! Do you smell that weird odor?

Sana sat up on her bed, only half-awake, and asked in a very sleepy voice, What happened?

Zara said, Do you smell something really bad?

Sana looked around the dark room, sniffed the air, and said, "No, there is nothing here. Just go back to sleep.

Again, Sana went right back to sleep, but Zara could not sleep at all because the stench was absolutely suffocating. She just lay on her bed with the pillow pressed tight over her face, when suddenly, the air turned freezing cold and she felt a heavy weight shift at the foot of her bed, like someone was standing right next to her. Thinking it must be Sana, she pulled the pillow off her face, but the darkness was completely empty. Zara turned on the lamp beside her bed and sat up in the middle of that weird smell, wanting to scream for help, but she stopped herself because she felt she should not disturb her roommate.

She lay back down and tried her best to close her eyes, but again, she felt a freezing breath right over her skin, and this time it felt completely real, like an invisible entity was leaning directly over her face.

Zara was so, so scared that she bolted upright and looked around, but there was still nothing there. Terrified and crying, she rushed over and shook her roommate, saying, "Sana, please wake up, I am feeling so scared and I cannot sleep at alll

Sana woke up and gently tried to calm her down, so they both sat up together in the dim light and talked for a long time. Soon, the peaceful sound of the morning Azan echoed through the window, and just like magic, the bad smell and the creepy pressure completely disappeared.

Sana smiled sleepily and said, See? Everything is gone now, go back to sleep.

Sana lay back down and fell asleep instantly, but Zara stayed up, looking at the clock and saying to herself, There is no point in sleeping now anyway, I should just pray my Salah and get ready for work because

ab soke kya hi hoga.

She walked into the quiet washroom to freshen up, leaning over the basin to turn on the tap so she could wash her face. But the exact moment she opened the tap, her eyes caught something shocking, and she screamed at the top of her lungs

To be continued…..

Thanks for reading🤍🌷

she searched the city without luck because every place was either too expensive or completely full. Just as she was about to give up, she spotted a small, weathered sign for a PG just two blocks away from her office building, which seemed like the perfect deal.

She went inside. Asked the owner if he had a room available..

the owner sighed, shaking his head and saying, I'm sorry, dear. All of our rooms are completely full.

Zara was disappointed.. but as she turned to leave, her eyes caught a heavy wooden door at the far end of the hallway that was padlocked from the outside unlike the other rooms.

What about that room? Zara asked.

The owners face changed. He looked tens that is a room he said. Nobody wants to stay.

Zara really wanted a place to stay. So she asked, Can I see it? The owner thought for a moment. Then he called one of his staff. Said, Show her the room.

When the staff member unlocked the heavy padlock and pushed the door open, a sudden, unnaturally cold breeze rushed out into the hallway, causing the temperature to drop instantly. Zara felt goosebumps.

She saw that the room was big. It looked like a hall that had been changed into a living space. There were three beds in the room. The air felt heavy.

Why is this room empty? Zara asked. Why does nobody want to stay The staff member smiled quickly. There is another girl who lives here "he said. She is on holiday. She will be back in two or three days.

Zara felt better when she heard that someone else lived in the room. She thought the cold breeze was just because the room was not used much.

I'll take it, Zara said to the owner, pulling out her wallet and handing over the advance payment before he could change his mind, adding, I will shift my things here Tommorow

The owner took the cash with a slow, serious nod and simply said, Okay. No problem.

The next day, Zara arrived with her bags, feeling incredibly happy because finding such an affordable PG room so close to work in an expensive city felt like a total miracle. But the moment she pushed the heavy door open, that same unnaturally cold breeze rushed out and hit her like a wall of ice, She thought it was just because the building was old.

She walked past the first two empty beds and chose the third one at the very back of the long room right next to a large window, thinking it was the better bed. Exhausted from carrying her luggage, she fell onto her bed.

Later that evening, her phone rang, and seeing the screen, she smiled and picked it up as a warm, heavy voice filled the line saying,

Hello, beta?

Mumma! Zara said happily.

I found a very affordable room It's perfect, I've already shifted in.

She chatted with her mother for a while, feeling comforted by the familiar voice, and afterwards,After talking to her mother Zara had dinner.

turned off the lights, and went to sleep while feeling completely safe.

At 3:00 AM she woke up.

The room was really cold. There was a smell too. It smelled like meat and dirty water. Zara sat up. Turned on her phone light.. When the light was on the smell went away.

Zara was confused. She drank some water. Lay down again..

The moment she closed her eyes, the smell slammed into her again, but this time it was twice as strong, thick, and suffocating. Zara bolted upright as the stench refused to go away, becoming so foul and overwhelming that she grabbed her pillow and pressed it hard against her face just to breathe.

Through the fabric of the pillow, the smell grew worse and worse, Ifilling her nose and mouth until it felt like whatever was rotting was standing right over her bed. Zara choked beneath her pillow, tears streaming down her face as she lay trapped in the dark for what felt like hours, praying for the night to end.

Then, the low, beautiful melody of the Fajr Azan began to echo through the city streets.The moment the call to prayer filled the air, a sudden shift happened in the room as the heavy, freezing pressure lifted and the sickening smell vanished completely into thin air.

Zara pulled the pillow away from her face, gasping for breath as the room began to smell normal again, just cold and slightly dusty.

She let out a massive sigh of relief, and looking at the dark window beside her bed, she tried to calm her racing heart by reasoning that the odor must have come from outside, perhaps from a garbage dump or a dead animal in the alleyway right beneath the window.

Pushing her fear aside, she performed her wudu, spread out her prayer mat, and offered her Namaz, which brought a deep sense of peace back to her mind. After praying, she freshened up, put on her clothes, and got ready for the day.

Looking in the mirror, she, noticed dark circles under her eyes from being absolutely exhausted, but she told herself it was just because it was a new place and everyone feels uneasy on their first night in a strange room, convincing herself that tonight would be better.

The day at work was long. Zara kept thinking about the room and the bad smell. When she finally left the office it was dark outside. She walked back to her room feeling tired.. When she reached her room she saw that the door was open.Zara was shocked. She remembered closing the door and locking it before she left. She took a step closer, to the room. Heard a strange scratching sound coming from inside...

TO BE CONTINUED……

Five years ago, the house always smelled like Khushi. Sweets, fresh jasmine, and that sickly sweet attar her Nani bought for her. I hated it. Every time Khushi entered a room, the light seemed to shift for her.

Look at Khushi

she’s so gentle.

Look at Khushi.

she so kind.

They forgot I was there. I was the older cousin, the sibling who studied until her eyes hurt, the one who faced our father’s anger when his debts piled up. Khushi was treated like a princess at Nani’s house, protected from the world. I grew up listening to my parents talk about money, labels, and survival. Khushi received praise, while I got the leftovers.

When they arranged her marriage, I watched her smile that stupid, innocent smile. She didn’t even know the man. But he knew me. He looked at me on the first day of wedding preparations with those desperate, pitiful eyes. He didn’t want a ‘pure soul.’ He wanted a woman who understood how the world worked. He wanted me. It was easy to manipulate him. A few secret meetings in the alleyway, a few whispers about how wonderful life could be if he wasn’t stuck with a boring, fragile girl like Khushi.

I told him exactly what to do. If you want me, clear the path. I didn’t even have to touch the poison. He did it himself. He added crushed pills to her juice on that brutally hot June day because he thought he was planning our escape. He was an idiot. I never wanted him. I wanted her gone, and I wanted to control him.

Zoya stood up from the dining table, her joints popping in the silence. Her voice didn’t sound like a fourteen-year-old girl anymore it sounded like an old woman who had survived a war.

Papa, Zoya said, her voice cutting through her mother’s loud crying. Stop calling the police. Stop crying. Meera isn’t kidnapped.

Her father turned around, his eyes wild. What are you talking about? You saw the mess in her house! You heard her voice on the phone!

It was an act, Zoya said, walking over to the cabinet and pulling out an old school notebook, slamming it onto the table. Look at the text message I just got. It said Stop looking. Uncol. Meera never learned how to spell that word. She has dyslexia, Papa. She’s had it since she was seven. She always writes Uncol.

Her father stared at the notebook page, then at Zoya’s phone. His face lost all color until it looked like wet chalk.

No... no, that’s impossible. She’s your sister. She’s Khushi’s cousin...

She hated Khushi, Zoya whispered, her eyes piercing into his. She hated her so much she got Khushi’s husband to poison her juice on that bike ride. She hid in the bushes and recorded Khushi slurring her words and collapsing, just to use that video to blackmail him forever.

Her mother let out a sharp gasp from the prayer mat. Zoya, shut up! Don’t say such terrible things about your sister!

Listen to me! Zoya yelled, slamming her hand onto the table, the sound echoing through the small house. When Meera ran away with her husband’s money, you didn’t care about her safety! You only cared about your honor and the lakhs of rupees you owed to those dangerous men! You immediately used me as a stand-in to cover your debts! You put me in danger!

She pointed a shaking finger at her father. Meera knew that. She wanted to punish you for selling me. So she blackmailed Khushi’s husband with the murder video. She forced him to take me; she forced him to add those hormone pills to my milk every morning. She wanted you to watch me go completely mad in the same bedroom where Khushi used to sleep. She didn’t want the money, Papa. She wanted to destroy your pride, piece by piece, until you had nothing left.

Her father’s legs gave out completely. He collapsed onto the sofa, gasping for breath. The weight of his own greed and his daughter’s deep malice hit him hard. His family wasn’t destroyed by an outsider; it had rotted from the inside.

The storm outside intensified with sudden, violent fury.

The wind bells hanging on their small balcony began to chime chaotically. Zoya turned from her broken parents and walked slowly up the concrete stairs to the rooftop. She pushed open the heavy metal door, stepping into the freezing rain. The water quickly soaked through her clothes.

She approached the edge of the brick railing and looked down into the dark, narrow alley behind their house the exact spot where Khushi’s husband used to park his motorcycle.

Under the flickering yellow glow of the streetlamp, a single figure stood still in a long, black raincoat. Water dripped off the hood in small streams. As if sensing Zoya’s gaze, the figure slowly tilted its head back.

The hood fell away from her face.

It was Meera. Her skin looked pale and flawless in the rain, her lips painted dark red. She didn’t look like a girl on the run. She looked perfectly at peace. She looked up at Zoya on the rooftop, and her lips curled into a slow, terrifyingly beautiful smile.

She raised a gloved hand, blew a silent kiss through the freezing air toward her little sister, and turned away. With smooth, unhurried strides, Meera walked into the dark shadows of the twisting alleyway, her black coat blending into the night until she completely disappeared.

Up on the roof, Zoya stood completely still in the pouring rain. She knew the police would never find her. She knew the debt wasn’t settled. And as she looked down at the empty streetlamp, she realized the house hadn’t stopped consuming girls it was just waiting for the next feast.

THE END.

Thank you for reading till end.😭

This story was incredibly intense to write, and i wanted to show how family can rot from inside out when secrets take over.
What was the scariest moment for you? let me know in the comments below. Your supports means everything to me 🤍

Zoya’s father didn’t even cut the engine properly. He just yanked the keys out of the ignition and forced the door open.

Zoya got out of the passenger side like a ghost. Her bare feet hit the cold, muddy ground without even a flinch. The heavy, gold embroidered dupatta of her dress dragged right through the dirt, picking up mud and dead leaves. She didn’t even bother to pull it up.

Her mother was already standing at the rusty iron gate. Her hair was completely messy and flying wildly across her face. Her eyes were bright red, and the dark circles underneath looked like deep bruises from two whole days of not sleeping.

What happened?

her mother asked, her voice cracking across the quiet neighborhood.

Zoya??

Beta??

She rushed forward and grabbed Zoya’s hollow face with both hands, looking for injuries. Zoya’s eyes were wide open, fixed on the empty space over her mother’s shoulder. She didn’t blink. Not even once.

Her father pushed roughly past them, his shoulder shoving his wife out of the way. Take her inside. She needs to sleep. Now.

His voice wasn’t loud, but it had that dangerous, rough tone that meant if anyone asked a single question, he would snap.

Inside the bedroom, the air felt suffocating. Her mother laid Zoya down on the mattress. She kept touching Zoya’s hair over and over, smoothing it back in a total panic like she believed that if she stopped touching her daughter, the girl would just disappear into the shadows.

The second Zoya’s breathing finally turned deep and steady, her mother slipped out into the dark hallway. Her father was sitting on the edge of the sagging sofa, his face buried in his rough hands. In just one single night, his skin looked loose and saggy. He looked ten years older.

Now tell me, her mother whispered, her teeth literally chattering from fear.

What did that animal do to our daughter?

He didn’t look up at her. Not tonight. You’re tired too.

He lied down on the sofa, fully dressed, his muddy shoes still on his feet. But his eyes stayed wide open, staring straight at the ceiling fan spinning overhead. He couldn’t close them. Every single time he did, he heard those exact words from the unknown number that had called him two days ago

“I’M GOING TO DESTROY YOU”

Morning came with absolutely no sound.

The sky outside was just a flat, dead gray. Zoya sat completely still at the dining table, using her thumb to push cold rice around the edge of a plate. She wasn’t eating a single bite. Her mother kept refilling her glass of water every time Zoya took a tiny sip. Her father sat right across from them, his knuckles turning white because he was constantly tapping his phone screen.

Then, the phone rang.

The digital ringtone felt violently loud in the dead silence. Her father lunged across the table, knocking over a salt shaker. He pressed the phone to his ear. Hello? Hello?

A voice came through. It was thin. Shaking badly.

P-papa... please... save me...

The phone cut. Dead silence.

The phone slipped right out of his sweaty palm, hitting the table with a sharp crack.

What? Her mother stood up so fast her chair flew backward onto the floor. Who was that? Tell me!

That was Meera, her father whispered. His voice sounded completely hollow.

Her mother’s right hand flew to her mouth, her nails digging deep into her lips.No. No, no, no.

Where is she??

Where is my daughter?!

I don’t know. His hands were already shaking uncontrollably as he tried to call back. A computerized voice droned back: The number you are trying to reach is currently switched off.

He called Meera’s husband immediately.

Where is Meera?? her father shouted into the phone.

Uncle, I’m at work right now, the husband said, sounding confused. She’s at home. Why? What happened?

She just called me, her father roared. She said save me. Go home right now!

There was a long pause on the other side. Then the sound of a chair scratching the floor, papers moving, and someone running fast. I’m leaving right now. I’m 10 minutes away.

Those 10 minutes felt like 10 years.

When Meera’s husband finally burst through the front door of their apartment, he didn't even need to speak

The main door wasn’t even locked it was wide open.

The wooden shoe rack in the hallway was knocked over, shoes scattered everywhere.

In the bedroom, the cupboard doors were wide open and hanging on broken hinges. Clothes were thrown all over the floor.

Her bag was completely gone. The small steel box under the blankets where they kept emergency cash was lying on its side. It was totally empty.

MEERA!!

He screamed her name until his throat hurt. He checked the bathroom, the kitchen, the rooftop.

Nothing.

Two hours later, two local constables and a senior inspector arrived. They stood in the cramped living room, checking the building’s grainy street CCTV footage on a laptop screen. The inspector sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose before looking straight into Zoya’s father’s eyes.

Saab, look closely at the timestamp. There is no one entering or leaving this alleyway between 7:00 AM and 9:00 AM. No vehicle, no suspicious stranger. No outsider ever crossed that line.

Then where the hell is my daughter? her father yelled, grabbing the front of the inspector’s uniform jacket.

The inspector didn’t even flinch. He just tapped a key, played a short five-second clip, and hit pause.

Sir... look at the main door. It opens. From the inside. At exactly 8:14 AM. Look at how she’s standing. No one is forcing her. She turns the lock herself, steps out with her bag, and pulls the door shut behind her.

The inspector closed his laptop. She walked out on her own. Case closed until we find a body or a ransom demand.

The police left. Meera’s husband sat on the stairs, head in his hands, sobbing.

The whole room went dead cold.

Back at the house, Zoya’s mother was down on her worn out prayer mat, her entire body shaking as she cried silently into her hands. Zoya still hadn’t moved an inch from the dining table. Suddenly, her own phone buzzed right against her leg.

A text from the unknown number

She’s safe. For now. Stop looking. Uncol.

Zoya just stared at the glowing screen. Then, with a completely blank face.

Her father caught her doing it. Who was that?

Zoya didn’t say a word to him. Because for the first time in long, painful years... all the pieces in her head finally clicked together. She didn’t feel scared anymore. She just felt a sick, heavy wave of total clarity.

TO BE CONTINUED……

People we follow go quiet.

Influencers who sell us “authenticity” go quiet.

Actors who cry on screen about humanity go quiet.

Pages that post quotes about kindness every day go quiet.

And then there’s Sonam Wangchuk.

One man. No brand deals. No PR team.

And he’s out there risking everything to speak, while the people with millions of followers are scared to post one paragraph.

He didn’t ask if it was “on brand.”

He didn’t wait for a safe time to post.

He just spoke.

Because people mattered more than his image.

But the people we look up to?

They hide behind “I don’t want to get political,” like watching people suffer is a debate topic and not a human one.

I’m tired of seeing motivational quotes next to complete silence.

I’m tired of “good vibes only” while people are hurting.

I’m tired of pretending that the people we follow actually care.

You think staying quiet protects you.

It doesn’t.

It just tells us that your comfort matters more than people.

You don’t need a perfect statement.

You don’t need to risk everything.

You just need to stop acting like your aesthetic is more important than someone’s life.

If you’re reading this and you feel uncomfortable, good.

That means you’re not numb.

That means you’re still human.

So act like it.

So Speak

before it's too late.

…..

Jiyaa~

I just feel so useless right now.

Sonam Wangchuk is on a hunger strike. Again.

For Ladakh. For the 6th Schedule. For the right to decide what happens to his own land, his own water, his own mountains.

And the government? Silence.

No statement. No meeting. Nothing.

Two weeks ago, hundreds of us showed up at Jantar Mantar.

Gen-Z kids. Students. People with cockroach masks and dog-eared exam books and hope that maybe this time someone would listen.

CJP. The Cockroach Janta Party.

We were there for NEET paper leaks. For CUET mess. For jobs that were promised and never came. For an education system that feels broken and an education minister who won’t take responsibility.

We chanted. We marched. We posted 20 million times.

We even wore cockroach masks because they called us cockroaches first.

And then... nothing.

News moved on. Twitter moved on. The government moved on.

This is what helpless feels like

It’s seeing a 58-year-old man starve himself on a road because talking, petitions, and meetings didn’t work.

It’s watching 20 million followers online shrink into a few hundred bodies on the ground, and still being treated like we’re invisible.

It’s refreshing the news every morning and seeing cricket scores, celebrity weddings, and ads, but nothing about Ladakh.

Nothing about the exams we studied our ass off for and still got cheated in.

Nothing about why we have to beg for basic accountability from people who were elected to serve us.

I’m not a politician. I’m not an activist with a blue tick.

I’m just someone who reads the news and feels sick after.

Someone who grew up believing that if you shout loud enough, someone listens.

The worst part? The voice in my head keeps saying:

“What can you do? You’re one person. Log off. It’s too big.”

But here’s what I realized

The government is counting on us feeling exactly like this.

They’re counting on us getting tired.

On us deciding it’s too big.

On us going back to scrolling and memes and pretending we didn’t see it.

They want us to feel useless.

Because useless people don’t write.

Useless people don’t email their MP.

Useless people don’t talk to their friends about it.

Useless people give up.

I’m tired of being useless.

So this is what I’m doing

I’m writing this. Even if only 10 people read it.

I’m sharing Wangchuk’s demands even if no prime time channel will.

I’m emailing my MP and asking why Ladakh’s statehood and 6th Schedule are still pending after years of promises.

I’m telling 3 friends about the CJP protest instead of assuming “everyone already knows.”

I’m refusing to pretend I’m okay with the silence.

It’s small.

It’s probably not enough.

But doing nothing felt worse than trying and failing.

If you feel this too

Don’t carry all of India by yourself. I can’t either.

But pick one thing today.

Share this.

Tag @PMOIndia. Tag @EduMinOfIndia.

Google “Sonam Wangchuk hunger strike” and actually read what he’s asking for.

Talk to your parents, your friends, your group chat about it.

Don’t let them think we forgot. Don’t let them think we got tired.

I don’t know if this article will change anything.

I don’t know if Wangchuk will get an answer.

I don’t know if the next exam will be fair.

I just know that staying silent was making me feel worse.

So I wrote.

…..

P.s.If you also feel angry/sad/useless about this, comment below. Let’s not be useless alone.