Manjari sat in her room at the Birla house, the dim light casting long shadows across the walls. The evening sun, once bright and warm, had dipped below the horizon, leaving the room cloaked in a somber twilight. In her hands, she clutched Neil's photograph—a picture taken years ago, when his smile still lit up her world. She ran her fingers over his image, tracing the lines of his face as if doing so could bring him back, even if only for a moment.
Neil wasn't her child by blood, but by heart. From the moment she had brought him into her life, she had vowed to love him as her own. He had been an innocent, vulnerable boy who needed a mother, and she had stepped into that role without hesitation. Over the years, her love for him had grown, deepening into a bond that she believed was unbreakable. Yet now, as she sat alone in the stillness of her room, doubts began to creep into her mind, like dark clouds gathering before a storm.
Her thoughts were interrupted as her gaze drifted to the mirror on the opposite wall. What she saw there sent a shiver down her spine. It was her reflection, but not quite her own. The woman staring back at her seemed different—her eyes darker, her expression colder, almost accusing.
"Do you really love him as your son?" the reflection asked, its voice low and sharp, slicing through the silence of the room.
Manjari's heart lurched in her chest. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. "Yes," she finally whispered, her voice trembling. "He is my son."
The reflection's lips twisted into a bitter smile, and Manjari felt a wave of nausea wash over her. "Liar," the reflection spat, the word echoing in her ears.
Manjari shook her head in denial, her hands gripping Neil's photo even tighter, as if it could shield her from the harsh truth that was being thrown at her.
If you truly loved him," the reflection continued, its tone growing more venomous, "you would have told him the truth. You would have told him that Harsh was his father, that he was not an orphan but a child with a family. But instead, you kept that secret buried, letting him live his life with a label that was never his to bear. You let him die without ever knowing where he truly came from."
Tears welled up in Manjari's eyes, blurring her vision. The reflection's words struck deep, each one a dagger piercing her heart. She had always told herself that she had kept the truth from Neil to protect him, to shield him from the pain that such knowledge might bring. But now, in the silence of her room, those justifications felt hollow, like a flimsy veil that had been torn away, revealing the ugly truth beneath.
"You are selfish," the reflection hissed, its voice rising, becoming more insistent. "You are selfish, selfish, selfish!"
"No!" Manjari screamed, the word tearing from her throat as she collapsed to the floor, her body wracked with sobs. She felt as though she were drowning, her grief and guilt pulling her under, suffocating her. The walls of the room seemed to close in on her, the shadows growing longer, darker, as if they were reaching out to swallow her whole.
Just then, the door to her room creaked open, and Shefali rushed in. Shefali's eyes widened in shock as she saw Manjari crumpled on the floor, her face streaked with tears. Without a moment's hesitation, Shefali hurried to her side, kneeling beside her and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Manjari aunty, please, drink some water," Shefali urged, holding a glass to her lips. Her voice was soft, soothing, as she tried to calm the older woman. "Please, try to calm down."
Manjari took the glass with trembling hands, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She sipped the water, the cool liquid doing little to soothe the burning ache in her chest. Shefali stayed close, her presence a lifeline in the storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm Manjari.
For several minutes, they sat in silence, Shefali’s hand gently rubbing Manjari’s back as her sobs gradually subsided into quiet tears. When Manjari finally looked up, her eyes were red and swollen, her face etched with deep lines of sorrow.
"Are you feeling a little better now?" Shefali asked, her voice filled with concern.
Manjari nodded weakly, but the weight of her guilt still pressed heavily on her chest. She couldn’t shake the reflection's words from her mind, the accusation that she had been selfish, that she had failed Neil in the most fundamental way. Shefali stayed with her for a while longer, offering quiet support until Manjari insisted she would be alright.
Eventually, Shefali received a call on her phone. She hesitated, glancing at Manjari, but the older woman urged her to go. "I’ll be fine, Shefali. You go ahead."
With a reluctant nod, Shefali stood up, giving Manjari’s hand one last comforting squeeze before she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
As soon as Shefali was gone, the silence of the room returned, more oppressive than before. Manjari’s thoughts began to spiral, dragging her deeper into the past, into the memories she had tried so hard to bury.
She remembered the day she had brought Neil into the Birla house. He had been so small, so scared. His eyes, wide with fear, had searched her face for reassurance, and she had given it to him, holding his hand tightly as she led him into the house. She had vowed to protect him, to love him as her own, and she had. But now, as she sat in the darkness, she wondered if she had truly done right by him.
The memories flooded back, each one more painful than the last. She remembered Neil’s first day at school, how he had clung to her, his tiny hands gripping hers with a desperation that broke her heart. She remembered the nights when he would crawl into her bed after a nightmare, seeking comfort in her arms. She remembered the countless times she had defended him against the coldness of the world, against the whispers that he was different, that he didn’t belong.
Their bond had been strong, unbreakable even. But it had been built on a foundation of lies. She had never told him the truth about his parentage, about how Harsh was his real father. She had let him live his life believing he was alone in the world, an orphan with no real family, when in reality, he had a father who never acknowledged him.
And now it was too late. Neil was gone, taken from her in the cruelest way, before she could gather the courage to tell him the truth. The pain of that realization was unbearable, a searing ache that left her gasping for breath.
Manjari’s thoughts turned to Neil’s child, the daughter he had left behind, the little girl who would never know her father. Manjari had intended to tell the child about Neil, to make sure she knew the truth about her father’s origins. But now, with Neil gone, she feared that revealing the truth would only bring more pain to the child. She was paralyzed by the fear that she would make the same mistakes again, that she would fail Neil’s daughter the way she had failed him.
The weight of her guilt was crushing, pressing down on her chest until she could hardly breathe. Manjari felt as if she were drowning, sinking deeper into the darkness with each passing moment.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Startled, she wiped her tears with the back of her hand and slowly rose to her feet, her legs shaky beneath her. The knock came again, more insistent this time, and Manjari felt a surge of anxiety grip her heart.
With a deep breath, she walked to the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the door handle. Taking one final breath, she slowly opened the door, her heart pounding in her chest, not knowing who or what awaited her on the other side…
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