*PART TWO OF 'A True Indian Cinderella'*
Meeya continues her struggle as a neglected child. Hoping one day to find her true love! Farim struggles hard to battle loneliness and suffers bad things.
WILL THEY GET BACK TOGETHER OR WOULD THEY CONTINUE T...
Tears streamed down my face as I struggled to make sense of the situation, my cries for mercy falling on deaf ears. The familiar sting of her punishment, both physical and emotional, tore through me, leaving me feeling helpless and utterly alone.
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In that moment, the promise of Fatima Aunt's message to Farim seemed like a distant, fading hope. The reality of my situation, trapped in this cycle of abuse, weighed heavily on my heart, and I couldn't help but wonder if I would ever find a way to escape this living nightmare.
Overcome with anguish, I fled to the bathroom, my legs trembling as I stumbled through the doorway. Collapsing to the ground, I let the tears flow freely, my body wracked with sobs.
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As I huddled on the cold, hard tile of the bathroom floor, the weight of my suffering threatened to crush me. The pain I had endured for so long had become a constant companion, woven into the fabric of my daily life.
Each day, I would wake up dreading the moment my mother's footsteps would echo down the hallway, signaling the start of another barrage of abuse. Her cruel words and violent outbursts had become the soundtrack to my childhood, drowning out any chance of happiness or peace.
The simplest of tasks would provoke her wrath - a misplaced item, a less-than-perfect homework assignment, even the tone of my voice. In those moments, her rage would erupt, and I would brace myself for the inevitable torment that followed.
The physical abuse was agonizing, her hands leaving bruises and her words carving scars into my soul. But the emotional torment was perhaps even more devastating. The constant belittling, the dismissal of my needs, the complete lack of affection - it left me feeling worthless, unlovable.
There were times when I would retreat to my room, desperately seeking solace in the pages of a book or the warmth of a familiar stuffed animal. But even that sanctuary was not always safe, as my mother would invade my space, her venomous words shattering any semblance of peace I had managed to find.
The holidays were the worst. With no escape to the relative safety of school, I was trapped in this living nightmare, forced to endure my mother's cruelty without respite. Each day felt like an eternity, and I would find myself longing for the sanctuary of the classroom, where at least I could momentarily forget the pain that awaited me at home.
