Heal Me

19.Silent Chains

Esha's POV
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I sat there frozen, Ishaan's question lingering in the air between us. His voice had been gentle, almost hesitant, as if he was afraid of pushing too hard. "Kal tum Teej festival mein aa rahi ho?" he had asked, and my mind went blank. Should I answer him? Should I tell him the truth?

He repeated the question, his voice more insistent this time, and I felt his gaze burning into me. I turned my face slightly towards him and shook my head. I could feel his disappointment, but I couldn't look at him, couldn't meet those eyes that always seemed to see through me.

"Kyun nahi?" he asked, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Don't lie. I know how much you love getting ready and attending functions like these."

His words cut through me like a knife, not because they were harsh, but because they were true. I stared at him, knowing he was right, but unable to admit it. How could he know me so well? How could he see what I tried so hard to hide?

I wanted to tell him, wanted to pour out all the thoughts and feelings that had been choking me for so long. I wanted to tell him how much I wanted to come, to enjoy the festival like everyone else, to laugh, to live my life the way everyone else did. But I couldn't. I wanted it, but I couldn't have it.

Ishaan seemed to sense my turmoil. He watched me in silence for a moment, then sighed softly. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it. Just think about it. I'll wait for you to come," he whispered, his voice full of quiet hope.

He stood up and walked away, leaving me sitting there, staring at his retreating figure. My heart ached as I watched him go. I wanted to go after him, to tell him everything, but the words were stuck in my throat, blocked by the weight of everything that held me back.

I thought about Ishaan all the way home. The way he looked at me, the way he seemed to understand me in a way no one else ever had. He made me feel seen, but that only made things harder. It was easy to hide behind my walls when no one cared to look past them. But Ishaan… he made it impossible to hide, and that terrified me.

When I reached home, the house was silent, as it always was. The weight of the emptiness pressed down on me, as if the walls themselves were closing in. I went straight to my room, freshened up, and tried to study, but my mind kept drifting back to Ishaan and the festival.

In the evening, I busied myself with the usual chores—cleaning, cooking, anything to keep my mind occupied. Dinner was just me and my mother, as usual. My father was out, drinking with his friends again. The tension between us was palpable, the silence heavy with all the words we never said.

As we ate in silence, my mother’s phone rang. It was Arjun, my brother. I listened quietly as my mother spoke to him, her voice soft and affectionate in a way it never was with me. Arjun was asking for money again, 1500 rupees for his fees. His salary had been delayed, and he needed the money urgently.

“Of course, beta, I’ll transfer it today,” my mother said, her tone full of concern. She didn’t even let him speak to me, just hung up the phone after promising to send the money.

I gathered my courage and spoke up, my voice trembling slightly. “Maa… kal Teej festival hai college mein. Sara bhi keh rahi thi ke main aaun… can I go? It’s my last year, and I really want to go…”

My mother looked at me, her expression hardening immediately. “Festival? Kaunsa festival? Tum itna paise barbad kar rahi ho, unnecessary cheezon mein. Tumhe yeh sab karne ki zaroorat nahi hai. Tumhara kaam hai padhai karna aur ghar ka kaam dekhna, bas.”

Her words stung, but I swallowed the pain, trying to hold on to the last bit of hope. “Maa, bas ek din ke liye. Please. Main kuch nahi karungi, bas jaana hai. Sab jaate hain…”

She glared at me, her voice rising. “Sab jaate hain? Sab ke maa baap ke paas paise hote hain. Tum kya sochti ho? Yeh sab karke tum hum par burden nahi ban rahi ho? Tumhare liye hum itna sab kar rahe hain, aur tum ho ke humari help karne ki jagah yeh sab karna chahti ho? Tumhari padhai ke liye paisa de rahe hain, aur tum ho ke extra expenses maang rahi ho. Sharam nahi aati tumhe?”

I felt my heart sink. I had expected this reaction, but it still hurt more than I wanted to admit. I hesitated, then gathered all the courage I had left and asked, “Maa… bas 300 rupaye de do, please. Maang Tikka aur earrings kharidna hai, dress ke saath match karne ke liye…”

The slap came out of nowhere, sharp and stinging. I gasped, tears springing to my eyes as I held my cheek, the pain spreading through me like fire.

“300 rupaye? Hum itna kuch kar rahe hain tumhare liye, aur tum paise ki demand kar rahi ho? Arjun ki bhi tumhare jaisi soch hota toh hum toh mar jaate. Woh doosre shehar mein parta hai, kaam karta hai, apne liye kamata hai, aur tum… tumse kuch nahi hota. Hum tumhare liye itna kar rahe hain, fees de rahe hain, khana de rahe hain, aur tum ho ke hamesha paisa mangti rehti ho. Sharam nahi aati tumhe?”

The tears spilled over, but I bit my lip, refusing to let out a sound. I wanted to scream at her, to tell her that I was her daughter too, that I deserved some happiness, some joy in my life. But the words wouldn’t come. They were stuck in my throat, choked by the years of guilt and fear that had been drilled into me.

“Arjun ke liye 1500 rupaye bhej rahi ho, aur mujhe 300 nahi de sakti? Kya main itni badi burden hoon aapke liye? Kya main deserve nahi karti thodi si khushi, thodi si zindagi?”

My voice was a whisper, barely audible, but it carried all the pain and frustration that had been building up inside me for years. My mother’s face twisted in anger, and she slapped me again, harder this time.

“Arjun doosre shehar mein hai, kaam karta hai, apne liye mehnat karta hai. Uske salary delay hui hai, isliye fees maang raha hai. Tum… tum toh bas ghar par baithi ho. Hum tumhare saare expenses utha rahe hain, aur tumhe sharam nahi aati yeh sab maangne mein? Tumhara aur Arjun ka kya comparison hai?”

I didn’t say anything more. I couldn’t. I just stood up from the table and walked to my room, each step feeling like I was walking through quicksand. When I reached my bed, I collapsed onto it, staring up at the ceiling as the tears streamed down my face. I didn’t try to stop them. I couldn’t if I wanted to.

The silence of the house pressed down on me, suffocating me, filling my mind with thoughts I didn’t want to think. Was I really such a burden to them? Did I really deserve nothing but scorn and rejection? The questions echoed in my mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

I thought about Ishaan, about the way he had looked at me today, with hope and longing. He wanted me to be happy, to enjoy life the way he did. But how could I? How could I find joy when every step I took felt like walking on broken glass? How could I laugh and smile when the very people who were supposed to care for me made me feel like I was nothing?

I cried until there were no tears left, my body shaking with the force of my sobs. And when the tears finally dried up, I was left with nothing but a hollow ache in my chest, a deep, gnawing emptiness that I knew would never go away.

Would I go to the festival tomorrow? I didn’t know. Part of me wanted to, wanted to prove to myself that I could still find some happiness, some light in this darkness. But the other part of me was too afraid, too tired, too beaten down to even try.

As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I felt the weight of my life pressing down on me, heavier than ever. And in that moment, I realized that no matter what I chose, the pain would still be there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to consume me.

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To be continued.....

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