THE BRIDE FROM THE WEST

Kiara's Backstory

The door slammed harder than she intended.

The sound rang through the house—sharp, loud, enough to be heard.

No one reacted.

Of course they didn’t.

Kiara let her bag slip off her shoulder. It hit the bed with a dull thud before she followed, dropping onto the mattress like her body had simply… given up.

From outside, her mother’s voice carried through the hallway.

Light. Careless. Laughing.

Talking to her maasi, probably.
Kiara stared at the ceiling, her eyes unfocused.

How strange…

That a voice could sound so full of life—
and still have none left for her.

It had always been like this.

Not sudden. Not dramatic.

Just… gradual.

Like being erased slowly, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to notice.
Sometimes she wondered—

If she stopped coming home one day…
how long would it take for anyone to realise?

A day?
Two?

…or would they just assume she was in her room?

Her lips twitched faintly, but it wasn’t a smile.

Maybe it would be easier that way.
Easier than existing like this—

half-present, half-forgotten.

Kiara Rauthan.

A name given to her. A place given to her.

Nothing that was ever truly hers.

She wasn’t their blood.

That truth had never been hidden. It didn’t need to be.It lived in the spaces between conversations.

In the way her mother’s hand never lingered on her shoulder.

In the way her father’s eyes always moved past her, searching for someone else.

They had wanted a child once.

For years, they had tried. Waited. Hoped.
Until hope turned into silence.

And then—they chose her.

Kiara was five when she came into this house.

Five years old, holding onto a broken doll and a fragile kind of happiness she didn’t yet know how to protect.

She still remembered that day— The way her tiny fingers clung to her mother’s saree.
The way she had been told, “This is your home now.”

She had believed it.

God, she had believed it so easily.

For the first time, she wasn’t the child no one wanted.

She was chosen.

Loved.

Wanted.

…for a while.

Because a year later— Suraj Rauthan was born.

And love… shifted.

Not loudly. Not cruelly— Just enough.

Enough for Kiara to notice the difference. Enough for her to understand.

The smiles came easier for him.The laughter stayed longer around him.
The house felt warmer when he was in it.

And colder when she was.

No one said it out loud.

They didn’t have to.

She saw it in everything.

In the way mistakes were forgiven when they were his— and punished when they were hers.

In the way her name was only called when something went wrong.

In the way she learned to stand still while being blamed, because defending herself only made things worse.

So she stopped.
Stopped speaking.
Stopped expecting.
Stopped hoping.

She became what they needed her to be—
Quiet.
Convenient.
Forgettable.

And somewhere along the way…she became that to herself too.

It hurt.
Not all at once.
But in small, quiet ways.

The kind that settled into your chest and stayed there.

The kind you couldn’t explain, even if someone asked—…not that anyone ever did.

So she found something else.

Something that didn’t look through her.
Books.

Pages that didn’t ignore her.
Stories that didn’t replace her.
Worlds where people like her were seen—loved—chosen.

She didn’t just read them. She lived in them. Felt everything they felt.

Held onto moments that weren’t hers.

Because even borrowed happiness… was still happiness.

Wasn’t it?

Kiara blinked, her vision clearing as she pushed herself up slightly.
The weight in her chest hadn’t gone anywhere.

It never did.

But she knew how to carry it now.
Reaching beside her, she picked up the novel she had been meaning to finish.
Her fingers traced the edge of the page, familiar, grounding.

Just a few more chapters.

Just a little longer in a world where things made sense.
Where endings weren’t always cruel.
She let out a slow breath and opened the book—

unaware
that this time,the story wouldn’t stay on the pages.
And when it ended—

She wouldn’t be the same girl who had started it.