✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
[ 𝐒𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋 1 ]
Because this is where love fades and hate resides and intensifies, broken hearts produce the most tragic stories.
Their treachery is told through their bleeding hearts: their unrequited love was never reciprocated. The...
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The rain was a steady, rhythmic assault on the car's roof, a relentless drumming that mirrored the frantic beating of Aparna's heart. In the driver's seat, Aparna's knuckles were bone-white on the steering wheel, her face a mask of silent tears. The world outside was a blurry watercolor of gray and green, a world she was desperately trying to leave behind, but one that seemed to be closing in with every tick of the windshield wipers.
Beside her, in the passenger seat, sat her daughter. At fourteen, she was on the precipice of womanhood, but right now, she was a small, fragile creature, curled into herself. Her sobs were not loud or dramatic, but a series of quiet, shuddering gasps that shook her entire frame. She had stuffed the hem of her sweater into her mouth, a desperate attempt to muffle the sounds of her pain, but the tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks, pooling on the dark fabric of her jeans.
Aparna glanced over, her heart twisting with a pain so sharp it stole her breath. "Ada, my baccha," she whispered, her voice a raw, broken thing. "Please, don't cry."
Ada looked up, her eyes wide and bloodshot, like two bruised plums. "I don't understand, Maa. Why are we running? What did we do wrong?" Her voice was small, a child's plea.
"Nothing, my darling," Aparna said, reaching across to clasp Ada's hand, her touch surprisingly cold. "You did nothing wrong. I... I made a mistake. A very big mistake."
She squeezed her daughter's hand, and the simple touch was an anchor in the storm. Ada clung to it, her small fingers wrapping around her mother's, seeking a warmth that wasn't there. "We can fix it, can't we, Maa? We can just go back."
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped Aparna's lips.
"No, my love. We can't go back. Not anymore." Her gaze drifted to the rearview mirror, and a new wave of panic, a cold, icy dread, washed over her. A pair of headlights, bright and predatory, had appeared in the distance, gaining on them at an impossible speed. The rain had intensified, and the road ahead was a shimmering, treacherous ribbon of asphalt.
"He's found us," Aparna said, the words barely a breath.
The words were a confirmation of Ada's worst fears. She saw the way her mother's face had paled, the way her eyes darted to the rearview mirror, then to her, then back to the road. Ada followed her gaze. The headlights were like two burning eyes, evil and unblinking, devouring the distance between them.
